


Stacks of green paper in his red right hand

by Zara_Zee



Series: The HellSpawn 'verse [5]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bikers, BDSM, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kink, M/M, NSFW Art, Organized Crime, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:21:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 30,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25194583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zara_Zee/pseuds/Zara_Zee
Summary: Life has never been better for Jared and Jensen. Business is booming. The challenges for control of the Californian underworld appear to have stopped. They have an awesome new house and an ever growing family of misfits and outlaws.  Jensen’s even trying to quit smoking.And then Jensen’s father drops a bombshell that makes Jared bench Jensen from everything but their ‘honest’ earnings. Jensenhateshis new restrictions, but with so much on the line, he can’t argue with them—not until a friend of the Club is in danger and Jensen’s the only one who can help. And then hecan’tjust sit it out. Right?
Relationships: Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki
Series: The HellSpawn 'verse [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/489715
Comments: 46
Kudos: 220
Collections: Supernatural and J2 Big Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** I have borrowed the names and faces of certain actors without their knowledge or approval. Said actors belong to themselves and I have merely cast them in my fiction. Not a word of this is true; I’ve just got them playing parts.  
> Any family members mentioned are strictly OCs as I don’t personally like to cast non-actors in my fictional dramas. Written for fun, not profit.
> 
> See Art [HERE](http://https://archiveofourown.org/works/25190737)

“Dee?” Jensen throws the workshop door open and strides into the office, manila job folder in hand. “Dee, the Armstrong job’s finished, the Ducati, can you…” he trails off as he spots the man in the charcoal suit standing at the reception desk.

Danneel hurries to her feet. “Jed Goldwater is an attorney,” she says. “He wants to make an appointment.”

“I know who he is,” Jensen replies and Danneel actually winces at his cold, flat tone.

“You look good,” his father’s attorney sounds surprised. “Your business is obviously doing well. And you don’t seem…” he pauses, clears his throat. “You seem… _healthy_.”

Jensen narrows his eyes. It shouldn’t sting, but it does. Why he gives a fuck what his father’s lackey thinks of him he doesn’t know, but he can’t help feeling hurt that his most recent breakaway from his parents’ bigotry and stifling expectations is obviously being dismissed back home as the behavior of a wayward, drug-fucked loser.

“I’ve been clean almost nine years,” he tells Goldwater, raising his chin slightly.

“Good for you.”

Goldwater’s expression is approving, almost paternal, and Jensen’s stomach sours as he realizes that he wants that paternal approval just as much as he wants to punch Goldwater’s face and tell him to fuck off.

Jensen supposes he shouldn’t really be surprised. After all, when he went out and got spectacularly drunk after that fight with his old man over college courses, and then got arrested for starting a bar fight, it was actually Goldwater who came and bailed him out. The attorney drove him home too, helped him get changed and into bed and left him a bucket, a glass of water and a pack of Tylenol.

And before that, when Jensen came back from LA the first time, Goldwater was the one who organized the rehab facility in Switzerland. He was the one who did the research, who talked Jensen into it and got him a place. He even flew there with him and got him settled in, then flew out again to bring him home four years later.

And then, even further back, there was that time Jensen got expelled from Longhorn Military Academy. Again, it was Goldwater who came and picked him up; did his best to soothe the Headmaster’s ruffled feathers.

Those are all things you’d think a _father_ would do for his son, but Jensen’s father has always preferred to outsource his parental obligations.

One way and another, the attorney has spent a lot of his time cleaning up Jensen’s messes. Then again, he is only the company’s _inhouse_ counsel. For really important matters, Warren Mason Ackles has _Wachtell, Lipton, Rosen and Katz_. 

Goldwater, Jensen notes, is watching him closely, so he fakes a smile.

“What can I do for you, Jed?” he asks, faux-friendly.

Goldwater’s eyes dart to Danneel. “Is there somewhere private we can talk?”

Jensen sighs. He has no secrets from his crew, but if Goldwater is here on a mission for Jensen’s father, the conversation could get ugly.

“Sure,” he says.

He takes Goldwater into the boardroom and directs him to the seat usually occupied by Ruth.

Jensen sits in his own usual seat, directly opposite.

Jared’s seat, at the head of the table, is between them, to the right.

Goldwater puts his briefcase on the table and opens it.

He pulls out a thick stack of paper and Jensen groans.

Goldwater grins. “Surely, as a business owner, you’re familiar with paperwork?”

“I have people for that,” Jensen says.

Goldwater harrumphs. “You still need to be capable of looking at your books and knowing whether they’re being cooked or not.”

Jensen rolls his eyes. Of _course_ they’re being cooked. Mark is an absolute genius when it comes to ‘creative accounting techniques’. He’s also absolutely loyal.

“We’re not stupid,” he says. “And neither are our people. They know we break legs if we have to.”

Goldwater’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Metaphorically speaking,” Jensen adds lamely. “So anyway,” he reaches out a hand for the paperwork. “What sort of a ‘Jensen mess’ has he sent you to clean up this time?”

Goldwater frowns and keeps a tight grip on the paperwork.

“Jensen mess?”

“How does he think I fucked up this time? What’s he trying to fix?”

“Ah,” says Goldwater. “No. It’s not. Well…in a way…let me walk you through it.”

Essentially, what it boils down to is this:

Warren Mason Ackles holds fifty percent of the stock in Ackles Oil. An additional twenty-five percent of the stock was left to Jensen by his grandfather and is currently held in trust for him, under his father’s control, until Jensen turns thirty.

In six months from now. 

Jensen’s father wants to buy that stock off him; at slightly less than the going commercial rate.

For a moment, Jensen can only stare. Then he throws his head back and laughs.

“He’s scared I won’t vote with him. Does that real estate fuckwit still own a big block of shares? Is Dad worried I might vote with him and all the other minor shareholders and make it hard for him to control the company with an iron fist?”

Goldwater nods. “In a nutshell, yes.”

Jensen grins. “I’m almost tempted to keep the shares and do it, just to fuck with him.”

Goldwater purses his lips. “Almost tempted?”

Jensen shrugs. “Yeah, well. I hate that real estate fuckwit too.”

Jensen drums his fingers on the table thoughtfully. “Okay, gimme the papers. I’ll read through them; have my people look over them. I’ll give you a call when I’ve decided whether to sell.”

Goldwater nods. He licks at his lips. “I, uh, hate to have to say this, but your father asked me to remind you about the special clause in your grandfather’s will. The one that stipulates that your entitlement to the shares will be null and void if you get convicted of a felony before you turn thirty.”

Jensen stares at the attorney until Goldwater begins to look a little anxious and then he curls his lip into an imitation of a smile, which seems to spook the man even more.

“Message received,” Jensen says.

Goldwater nods brusquely. “Just don’t forget how ruthless your father is,” he begins.

Jensen cuts him off with a bark of laughter. “Oh, trust me, I know.”

Goldwater’s eyes and mouth tighten and he runs a hand through his hair. “Jensen,” he says tentatively, “when I brought you home from school, when you got expelled…I should’ve done something…stopped him—”

Jensen is not going to have this conversation.

“That was nothing,” he says dismissively.

Goldwater doesn’t get the message. “It wasn’t ‘ _nothing’_ Jensen. You were _fourteen_ and--”

Jensen cuts him off with an impatient huff. “And it wasn’t a big deal. So my old man smacked me around a little? Big deal. The shit I pulled? I had it coming.”

Goldwater frowns and opens his mouth. He’s probably planning some homily about how no kid deserved to be curled up in a fetal position with a fist-shaped bruise on his cheek and a split lip, being repeatedly kicked in the side, so hard that he ended up pissing blood for a week.

Jensen doesn’t need to hear it.

“Most of my crew had it much worse than I ever did,” he says, leaning forward, eyes intent. “And I ain’t throwing stones, because I’ve _done_ worse. Much worse.” 

Goldwater’s lips are a thin line, but he doesn’t try to argue this time.

“When I said I know how ruthless he is,” Jensen continues, “I was talking about the bird thing.”

Goldwater frowns.

Jensen raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t know about that? That new pipeline he wanted in the Gulf of Mexico, about seventeen years ago? The one that needed to go right through some important nesting area for Little Blue Herons? A bunch of environmental activists took it to the Supreme Court, wanted to get a protection order for the birds.”

Goldwater’s eyes widen and he shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

Jensen nods. “So you do know. Funny wasn’t it, how the case’s only judge with a history of supporting environmental justice was killed when his car was run off the road by the never-identified-driver of a stolen car.”

Goldwater keeps his eyes fixed on Jensen’s. He doesn’t move. He seems to be holding his breath.

“So yeah,” Jensen nods. “I know how ruthless he is.”

He sits back in his seat and watches as Goldwater makes himself relax.

“The old man and me, we ain’t as different as he wants to believe. He wants to paint me as a common criminal? Fine. He wants to claim the moral high ground? Sure, whatever. But don’t you forget, Jed, _I_ don’t murder _judges_.”

Goldwater swallows and then nods.

Jensen stands abruptly and Goldwater actually flinches. It makes Jensen smile.

“Jed,” he offers his hand.

Goldwater stands slowly and shakes Jensen’s hand.

“Enjoy your weekend in my town. And, like I said, tell the old man ‘message received’.”

Goldwater nods again and Jensen shows him out of the office and escorts him to the double glass front doors.

Danneel is sitting at the reception desk, her face flushed and her hair a mess.

For a long while Jensen stands still in the middle of the office, staring out at the darkening sky.

The clickety-clack of Danneel’s stilettos alerts Jensen to her approach. She touches his elbow gently. “You okay, Jen?”

Jensen nods.

“What did he want?”

Jensen turns his head slowly and looks down at his assistant. “Don’t pretend you weren’t listening at the door.”

Danneel merely lifts her chin, her expression defiant. “Did your old man really off a judge?”

Jensen runs a hand across the back of his neck. “Yeah. I heard him order the hit myself. Not in so many words, but he knows how to suggest things in a way that makes them happen, without being incriminating to him,” Jensen smiles wryly. “You know; ‘ _I’m very concerned about this judge. It is what it is._ ’ Said to the right people…” he trails off.

Danneel tilts her head and regards him solemnly. “I’ll get the Armstrong paperwork to Chad for invoicing. Why don’t you go home? It’s already gone five and you really need to talk to Jared about that,” she nods at the paperwork in his hand.

“Yeah.”

Jensen heads out to the small office attached to his workshop and grabs his black leather jacket from the back of his chair. He shrugs into it, pulls his keys out of a pocket and then goes over to where Baby waits for him, just inside the workshop.

Nine months ago, Baby had been badly damaged when the president of the Bastard Sons MC thought it’d be a good idea to kidnap Jensen. Since then, Jared had repaired her and Jensen had lovingly repainted her.

Jensen takes a moment to appreciate Baby’s beauty. He runs a hand along her sleek curves and tries to settle himself.

Everything about his old man gets on Jensen’s nerves and he’s prepared to admit—at least to himself—that Goldwater’s visit has flustered him.

He wheels Baby outside and hits the button on his key fob that closes the workshop’s roller door. He throws a leg over Baby’s seat and straddles her and then fishes his smokes out of his jacket pocket and lights up.

The nicotine helps.

Jensen tried to quit a few months back, and he’d stupidly tried to do it cold turkey too. He’d become, to put it bluntly, an absolute cunt, and that’s not a word Jensen uses lightly.

He’d needled Jared for weeks, torn him apart with vicious words and insults at the slightest provocation, until one day Jared had reached his limit and Jensen found himself pinned against a wall, with one of Jared’s hands around his throat and Jared’s other fist pulled back, ready to punch.

Jensen waited for the inevitable blow. Instead Jared took a slow, steadying breath, muttered, _I don’t need this shit_ , and walked out of the house. Jensen listened to Jared’s bike start up and pull away, and then he slid down the wall and slumped to the floor.

Jared had left him. It was no less than he deserved.

And really, it had been inevitable. Not many people could handle Jensen. His own parents sure as shit couldn’t. He was just surprised Jared had tolerated him for this long.

He should probably go and pack, but Jensen found that he couldn’t move. He didn’t have the energy. He felt empty.

When the front door banged open, Jensen was genuinely surprised. And he was beyond stunned when Jared squatted down in front of him and sighed.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” Jared said.

Jensen felt a single tear roll down his cheek. Jared wiped it away with his thumb.

“Color?” he said.

Jensen stared at him for a long moment and then cleared his throat. “Green.”

Jared tossed him a pack of Marlboro Reds and a blue plastic lighter. “Smoke one.”

“I’m trying to quit,” Jensen snarked.

Jared nodded. “You’ve been smoking since you were thirteen. You’re a recovering coke addict who uses cigarettes like a goddamn crutch. And the last couple weeks you’ve been a total bitch. You wanna quit? Fine. But you’re not doing it cold turkey. Smoke a fucking cigarette Jensen.”

Jensen drew a deep breath, in preparation for unleashing at Jared, but Jared clapped a hand over his mouth.

“If the next word out of your mouth is anything other than ‘red’ I swear to God you will regret it and believe me, you’re already in enough trouble as it is, so how about you just do as you’re fucking told?” he removed his hand.

Jensen scowled at him. “You don’t own me,” he muttered.

He sounded petulant, even to himself.

Jared’s only response was to take the plastic wrap off the Marlboros, pull a cigarette out of the pack and stick it between Jensen’s lips. He then picked up the lighter and lit the cigarette.

By the time he’d finished smoking it, Jensen had to admit that he felt calmer. At least he did until Jared told him to go to the bedroom, pull his pants down and bend over the edge of the bed.

“Seriously?” Jensen grouched.

Jared cupped a hand behind his ear. “That didn’t sound like ‘red’ to me. I’ll drag you there if I have to, but the longer and harder you fight me on this, the longer and harder I’m gonna paddle your ass.”

“Fuck you,” Jensen spat.

Jared’s grin was pure evil. “Still not hearing ‘red’,” he said, hauling Jensen to his feet.

“Okay, okay,” Jensen said as he was dragged along in Jared’s wake. “But not the paddle. Use the flogger instead.”

Jared shook his head. “You like the flogger.”

Jensen’s puppy eyes weren’t quite as proficient as Jared’s, but he was certainly no slouch when it came to pouting and pleading.

“I don’t want the paddle.”

Jared’s evil smile widened. “I know,” he said. “That’s why you’re getting it.”

Jensen had a choice, of course. He could safeword and that would be that.

But while the cigarette had soothed some of the rampant, unchecked blackness raging through his system, it hadn’t been enough to deal with all of it and, God, he needed…he needed…a _high_. He needed to float away on a wave of endorphins. He needed to be taken out of his head. Out of his body. He needed to submit. Even to something he didn’t like. _Especially_ to something he didn’t like. Because the only way to scrub away the blackness; to atone for being such an unrelenting prick; was with pain. And maybe that made him fucked up, but Jensen didn’t care. What they had worked for both of them.

None of which made it any less humiliating to pull his pants down and bend over, offering up his bare ass for what promised to be a long, hard spanking. Of course, it didn’t take long for embarrassment to be replaced with burning agony. Jared brought the paddle down hard, but not fast, using an even, almost mechanical rhythm that left just enough time in between strikes for Jensen to process exactly how much each one hurt. It was the hardest they’d ever played and the enormity of the pain absolutely floored Jensen. It left him shocked and shaking and gulping in ragged breaths of air, but as Jensen gave himself up to sensation, as he accepted it and submitted to it, his head quietened, his body began to float and he settled into a feeling of sweet euphoric peace.

Jensen squirms remembering it. Sitting on his ass had hurt for well over a week afterward, but it had been worth it. Jared had gone overboard with the aftercare too, and Jensen had _basked_ in it.

Maybe one day he’ll be capable of accepting that level of loving care and kindness without being completely broken first, but Jensen can’t see it happening any time soon. He’s just thankful that Jared understands him so well.

Jensen puts out his cigarette and starts up Baby. She purrs to life, her comforting rumble a balm to his irritation. Man, his dad _always_ pisses him off.

Jensen sighs and heads toward the new house. He’s still not quite used to it. Not really comfortable with it either, if he’s honest.

Within days of Jensen’s kidnapping, Jared had spoken to Takamasa Hayashi, Head of the Yakuza’s local chapter, and arranged to rent a large, secure property in Beverley Hills from the Japanese crime syndicate.

Jensen had pointed out to Jared that the Bastard Sons hadn’t actually kidnapped him from home, they’d knocked him off his bike when he was on his way to see a customer; but Jared had put his foot down and insisted that they were getting a more secure house. He also said that as the leaders of one of the country’s most powerful criminal organizations, it was about time they moved out of their low rent apartment and into something a little more befitting of their status. The second argument sounded like it probably came from Takamasa Hayashi. Or possibly Ruth.

Jensen hadn’t argued though. Mostly because there’d been a ball gag in his mouth at the time.

None-the-less, he did actually agree that they deserved to live somewhere nicer, and for the most part he _does_ like their new home. 

The property Hayashi gave them is a sophisticated sprawling mansion set on a seven acre lot in guard-gated Beverly Park North. The property has spectacular views across the nearby hills and in addition to the main house it has a decent-sized guest house. It has an eight-car garage, which gives them ample room for their bikes, their car and their pick-up truck, and even allowed them to set up a small workshop so they can both work from home if they need to.

The resort-style estate is basically a secured compound; it even has a security pavilion.

The house itself is surrounded by manicured lawns, mature palms, towering pines, and colorful flowerbeds; and the extensive grounds include a lap pool, a Jacuzzi, a pool house, a large gazebo, a separate heated grotto, a tennis court and a cascading waterfall that splashes down into a decent-sized, but shallow, rock pool. Jared loves the waterfall splash pool and so do Harley and Sadie.

The compound has plenty of room for the dogs to run around and with eleven bedrooms (and eighteen bathrooms) in the main house, there’s more than enough room for the crew to stay over, which they often do. It isn’t as grand and stuffy as Jensen’s family’s estate, back in Texas, but it is classy and cultured and even though he has to admit that he likes the place itself, living in Beverly Hills makes Jensen’s skin itch and chafe.

Or maybe that was just the Japanese silk rope that Takamasa Hayashi had gifted them when they moved into the house. The _Shateigashira_ was apparently an aficionado of the art of _shibari_ —erotic Japanese rope bondage—which Jared had learned after a drunken conversation in which Jared had confessed that he really liked to tie Jensen up before he fucked him. Hayashi had suggested that Jensen would look beautiful in a _hishi-kikko_ full body tie, perhaps using a mix of red and green rope and the conversation had gone from there.

To be honest, neither Jared nor Jensen have the patience for the erotic art of Japanese rope bondage, but Jared had tied Jensen down with it more than once, including last night when Jared had decided to position Jensen ass-up in the middle of the sweeping spiral staircase and tie him to the bannisters. The two of them had been the only ones home at the time, and the security system would’ve notified them if anyone else entered the property, but just the mere possibility that one of the crew could’ve walked in and seen Jensen spreadeagled for Jared’s use made him come so hard he saw stars.

Takamasa Hayashi told them that he’d picked the house out of the Yakuza property portfolio for them because it reminded him of Jensen; stunningly beautiful and breathtakingly stylish, but with kickass security that meant it was impossible to get inside of it if you didn’t have permission.

Jensen was flattered by the analogy; in a weird sort of way.

Of course, the compound’s kickass security meant extra security staff. Jared hadn’t been sure about that at first; he was a biker from the wrong side of the tracks, the idea of someone else fighting his battles for him just rubbed him the wrong way.

“Jared you’ve earned this. You saw off all the challengers and you won the right to control this club and this territory. From now on, anyone who challenges, they won’t underestimate you. They’ll come in hard. Well-armed. Professional. And this is our home, Jay. This is the place we come to relax. Unwind. We don’t want to be on high alert 24/7. So we need to take extra precautions.”

Jensen suspected that Jared was mulling it all over while he rammed his dick into Jensen’s mouth. Jensen was tied to the bed with the Japanese silk rope and Jared was kneeling over him, holding on to the headboard and sinking down onto Jensen’s face, stuffing his dick right down Jensen’s throat, choking him so good, cutting off his air and making tears stream down his face. 

Jensen was so far gone that he didn’t even hear the door open. It wasn’t until Jared whirled around, his dick yanking unceremoniously from Jensen’s mouth, that Jensen realized something was wrong.

Jared’s gun clicked impotently.

The guy in the doorway was dressed all in black. He was holding a silenced gun.

He was, objectively speaking, pretty hot.

Jensen blinked back tears. He had saliva and pre-come drooling down his chin.

The hot guy didn’t even look at him.

“Name’s Tahmoh Penikett,” he said. “Jensen Ackles hired me to do a security review. You have a couple of weak spots we should talk about.”

“Wait for me outside,” Jared said.

When he turned back to Jensen his expression was dark and Jensen swallowed. He didn’t try to speak though, anything he had to say would only be garbled by the ring gag in his mouth.

Jared stared at him for a moment and then took himself in hand and stroked himself until he came, mostly on Jensen’s chin. And then he got dressed and left the bedroom.

Jensen had no choice but to wait for him.

It was well over an hour before Jared returned. He untied Jensen and Jensen took off his ring gag.

“How pissed are you?” he asked.

Jared snorted. “I may not like it, but that was a pretty effective way to make your point. We’re gonna take Tahmoh’s team on. Get dressed. You need to countersign the contract.”

Jensen nodded. “And after?”

Because they _had_ been mid-scene and he hadn’t gotten to come yet.

Jared’s smile was positively evil. “We’ll see,” he said.

Jensen grins as he remembers the debauchery that followed. Of course, before then he’d had to go down with Jared and sign the paperwork and truth be told, he’d been a little worried about the fact that he’d met Tahmoh when he'd been tied up and pretty deep in subspace. It wasn’t that Jensen particularly cared what people thought of him; he didn’t. But it could be a time consuming pain in the ass to have to keep proving to people that you weren’t weak, just because the thing that gave you the best orgasms ever was submitting to somebody else. Tahmoh though, had been nothing but professional and Jensen’s concerns had been further assuaged when he’d met Tahmoh's partner, Ric.

Osric Chau was an utterly brilliant MIT graduate who liked to cross dress. He wore a discreet sterling silver choker around his neck and it took way longer than it should have for Jensen to realize the significance. Tahmoh and Osric were in a 24/7 D/s relationship, which, in retrospect, is perhaps why their security company had been recommended to Jensen. The fact that Jared and Jensen were what Jensen liked to refer to as ‘kinky as fuck’ was fairly common knowledge among their friends.

Jensen thought hard about the whole 24/7 collaring thing for about five minutes, before deciding it wasn’t for him. It was too formal. Too many rules. Jensen liked being able to switch the kink on and off, depending on what they both wanted and needed. He was also a big believer that if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it and what he and Jared had worked for them; he didn’t want to fuck it all up.

Apart from Tahmoh and Ric, the security team consists of Chad Linberg, also an MIT graduate and Charlie Bradbury who tends to be a little hazy about her actual qualifications and deftly changes the subject if you try to talk to her about her childhood.

Ric, Chad and Charlie run the electronic security system and provide IT security too. Tahmoh also has two off-siders working for him who help him provide the ‘armed and dangerous’ portion of the security; an Irish guy called Adam Fergus (nicknamed ‘Mick’, of course) and a Canadian dude called David Haydn-Jones. They’re a strange duo and Jensen still isn’t sure whether he likes them. Haydn-Jones has a weird sense of humor and the nickname ‘Ketch’. When Jensen asked him about it, he clammed up and Mick said it was because he was such a lousy executioner. Jensen still hasn’t gotten to the bottom of it, but he supposes everyone’s entitled to their secrets.

Jensen speeds up as he winds his way toward the community gate.

Several of the community’s security guards are retired LAPD officers and to say they’re unhappy that Jared and Jensen are residents under their protection would be an understatement of fairly epic proportions. Fortunately, it isn’t the sort of neighborhood where people visit each other to gossip over coffee and a slice of pie. For the most part, their neighbors are filthy rich and/or celebrities and they tend to keep to themselves, which suits Jared and Jensen just fine.

Jensen swipes himself through the communal gate under the watchful (and glowering) eye of two security guards. He gives them a big, fake grin and a wave just for good measure. The scowls deepen.

Five minutes later he’s pulling into his own garage. No one is home except for the security team and Samantha Smith, the housekeeper.

Sam joined the team a week after they moved into the new house, sent their way by Jim Beaver.

“Sam!” Jared had greeted her like an old friend, wrapping his arms tightly around her like a giant octopus. “When did you get out?”

Jensen cocked his head. Out? Out of where?

“Couple weeks back.”

Jared released Sam from his hug and gestured at her to sit down. He sat down beside her on the sofa and Jensen lowered himself into an armchair opposite.

“I’ve been staying with Jim and Pam,” Sam added, “looking for a job. You know the drill. When Jim heard you’d moved into a big swanky house, he thought you might need a housekeeper.”

Jared nodded. “We do. And you’d be perfect, Sam,” Jared grinned and practically bounced on the sofa. “It’d be perfect for you too, Sam. A job, a great place to live. The parole board’s gonna eat it up.”

Jensen cleared his throat. “So. Sam. You were in prison?”

Sam turned to look at him, her face completely devoid of expression.

“For fourteen years,” she said.

Jared was making ‘drop it’ faces at him, but fuck that. If Sam was going to live in his house, then Jensen had a right to know what had landed her on the wrong side of the law.

“Why?”

Sam lifted her chin. “I slit my old man’s throat with a carving knife. Watched him bleed out.”

There wasn’t an ounce of remorse in her eyes.

Jensen nodded. “Why?”

The hard expression flickered, just for a moment. “Me and Ricky got together when I was sixteen,” she said, “had Kathy pretty much straight away,” she shook her head. “Momma always told me, you made your bed, girl, now you lie in it. And when it was just me…I figured…I guess I figured I deserved everything I got. You know, for making such a bad choice,” she paused. “But then he started in on Kathy too, and that’s when I knew I had to leave him,” she glanced at Jared. “The Beast helped Ricky find us and drag us back. What he did to me then,” she closed her eyes and Jensen could see fine tremors running through her body. She swallowed hard and opened her eyes. “Afterwards, he told me that if I ever tried to leave him again, he’d kill Kathy.”

Jensen nodded. “So you slit his throat?”

Sam lifted her chin again. “And I don’t regret it. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

“Good for you,” Jensen said. And he meant it. “How soon can you start?”

“Really?” Sam’s smile was like the sun coming out. “I’ve got the job?”

Jensen met Jared’s eyes, which were warm with approval. When Jensen nodded at Sam and told her yeah, she’d got the job, she launched herself at him and hugged him hard.

“Thank you!” she said. “I swear you won’t regret it.”

So yeah, it’s fair to say that Jensen liked Sam right from the get-go.

She’s only five years older than him, but she somehow manages to be maternal anyway. Jensen figures she’s got a lot of mothering to catch up on. Kathy was only four when her mom was locked up. Ricky was a product of the system and Sam’s mom’s ‘told you so’-ing apparently extended as far as refusing to take in her granddaughter, so Kathy ended up in the system herself. Sam got regular visits in the first year that she was locked up, but then Kathy got a new social worker and the visits began to taper off, before stopping completely some eighteen months later. Sam spent the next couple of years fighting to get visitation re-instated, to no avail. Finally, the latest in the string of Legal Aid lawyers appointed to her told Sam that her parental rights had been terminated and she wasn’t allowed any further contact with her daughter, but Sam never saw any official paperwork to confirm it.

Kathy’s seventeen now—a few weeks short of her eighteenth birthday—and even though Sam’s been looking since she got out, she still hasn’t been able to find her—or get any official confirmation about what happened to her.

HellSpawn are helping now, though, and Jensen is confident that they’ll find her eventually.

When Jensen finishes playing with the dogs who romped all over him the moment he opened the door in from the garage, he heads into the kitchen. Sam’s at the stove stirring something that smells amazing. She turns and smiles as he walks into the room.

“Hey hon, how was your day?”

Jensen makes a so/so gesture. He slaps the files that Goldwater gave him down on the kitchen table and reaches into the fridge for a beer.

“Got a visit from the old man’s lawyer,” he tells her.

“I know. Danni called. You okay?”

Jensen nods and takes a seat at the table. “What are you making? It smells awesome?”

“Jim’s chilli with corn bread. Don’t change the subject.”

Jensen rolls his eyes and manufactures a teen pout. “Whatever, _Mom_.”

Sam grins and waves her wooden spoon at him. “I’d threaten to smack your ass with this, but apparently you like that sort of thing, so…”

Jensen can’t help laughing. A few weeks after she joined the team, Sam had accidentally walked in on Jared using the flogger on Jensen, and had promptly freaked the fuck out. She’d called Jared a lot of names, cursed him out good, and pummelled him with her fists, until, finally, Jared had to wrap her in his arms and hold her still. She’d still hissed and kicked like an alley cat.

It would’ve been funny, if Jensen hadn’t been naked, ass up, and just a few flogger-strokes short of coming all over Jared’s lap when she’d walked in. For bonus humiliation points, the evening ended with Jensen throwing on a towelling robe, making hot chocolate and sitting Sam down to explain to her that they engaged in kink for fun, he _liked_ Jared using the flogger on him, and they always used safe words.

“Speaking of liking that sort of thing,” Jensen says to Sam, “you might wanna avoid the main house after dinner tonight,” he waggles his eyebrows.

Now it’s Sam’s turn to roll her eyes. “Ten-four, boss,” she says. “Now, tell me, what did your old man’s lawyer want?’

Jensen is saved from answering by the dogs going nuts, closely followed by the low rumble of a motorcycle, which means that Jared’s home.

Jensen takes a long swallow of his beer. “Let’s wait for Jared. That way I only gotta say this once.”

As soon as Jared comes into the kitchen it’s obvious that Danni rang him too.

“You okay?” he says, skidding to a stop in the kitchen doorway.

Jensen rolls his eyes. “I had a meeting with a lawyer. Not exactly the most dangerous thing I’ve ever done.

Jared’s eyes narrow. “Your _dad’s_ lawyer,” he says. “Your dad the asshole, who apparently knocks off judges.”

“Huh,” Sam puts her wooden spoon on a saucer and puts the lid on the casserole dish. She helps herself to a beer and sits down next to Jensen.

“Okay, spill. Want did he want.”

“Danni didn’t tell y’all?”

Jared shrugs. “Something about shares?”

Jensen nods and explains his old man’s proposal.

Jared’s eyes narrow even further. “How much money we talkin’ about?”

Jensen rubs a hand over his lips. “Uh, about two billion, give or take.”

Jared’s mouth falls open. “Two billion,” he says flatly. “Two _billion_?”

“Yeah.”

Jared stares at him for a long moment and then he gets up and walks out of the room.

Jensen watches him leave and then guns all the beer he has left. He puts the bottle down on the table, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and looks at Sam.

“Fuck,” he says.

“It’s a lot of money,” Sam offers.

Jensen nods.

“The food’s pretty much ready,” Sam says. “I’m gonna switch it off and head on over to the guest house. You guys can just heat it up when you’re ready to eat,” she stands and switches off the hob.

She pauses beside Jensen and rests a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll activate the Do Not Disturb on the alarm system.”

Jensen nods again. Once Sam’s gone he heads over to the bar in the living room and pours himself a tumbler of bourbon. He can see Jared through the window, throwing a tennis ball for the dogs. Jensen sips at his whiskey and watches his boyfriend throw the ball hard and fast. When the bourbon’s all gone he sighs and follows Jared out into the yard. He stops just short of where Jared is standing and lights a cigarette.

Jared turns when Jensen flicks the lighter and his expression is guarded.

“Two billion,” he says again. “I can’t believe it’s even a fucking question!”

Jensen draws back on his Marlboro. “It isn’t. I just want Mark and JP to go over all the paperwork, make sure my old man isn’t trying to screw me somehow,” he shrugs. “Plus, I wanna make him sweat a little.”

Jared’s expression clears. 

"Good," he pauses. "You really did grow up stupidly fuckin' rich, didn't you?"

Jensen shrugs. It's not something he's particularly proud of. It's not like he did anything to earn his money, it's all just due to an accident of birth.

"So we're okay?" he asks Jared.

Jared throws the ball hard and watches fondly as the dogs bound after it enthusiastically.

"Yeah," he turns back to Jensen. "You should call Mark and JP now, have them come over tonight to check out those papers with us."

Jensen's mouth twists. "Tonight?" he bites at his bottom lip. "I was thinking you, me, some rope, a few toys..."

Jared stares at him intently, one eyebrow raised questioningly.

Jared and Jensen don't scene every day. Hell, they don't even do it every week, and they'd had a spectacularly satisfying night of debauchery last night, which makes Jensen's request that they scene again tonight a little unusual.

"For me or for you?" Jared asks.

Truthfully, Jensen isn't sure. Back in the early days of their relationship, when Pellegrino had first given Jensen to Jared to settle his debt to HellSpawn, Jensen had used sex shamelessly as a tool to keep Jared sweet. The relationship had developed quickly from one with questionable consent into a genuinely consensual relationship, built on mutual respect, understanding, friendship and a shared passion for kink.

But from time to time, when Jensen is feeling...rattled; uncertain; well, sex is always a good fallback position. And letting Jared take control means he doesn't have to _think_. 

He also knows Jared well enough to understand that reminders that Jensen comes from an old money billionaire oil family always make the biker think about his own rough, wrong- side-of-the-tracks and frankly abusive upbringing, which in turn has been known to leave him questioning whether or not he's good enough for Jensen. Handing Jared the reins—so to speak; pony-play is _not_ one of Jensen's kinks—usually soothes that particular uncertainty.

Sadie drops the tennis ball at Jensen's feet and butts her head against his leg. He leans down and pets her and then hurls the ball for her to chase.

"Jensen?"

"For both of us," he answers. "We're always gonna be us, Jay. None of that other stuff...the money, my family, whatever...will ever be as important as us."

Jared’s eyes are dark pools of heat as he pulls Jensen in and kisses him breathless.


	2. Chapter 2

Jensen wakes alone in an empty bed. The sheets beside him are cold and when he picks up his phone and flips it open he sees that it's already gone 11.00am.

Shit. Jensen sits up with a groan and then winces slightly; Jared really worked him over but good last night and Jensen can't help grinning to himself.

After supper yesterday, he'd organized for JP and Mark to come and go over the paperwork with him at 10.00am this morning and then Jared had dragged him to the bedroom and a very good time was had by all.

Now though, he's an hour late for the meeting that he himself organized, which isn't a good look, even though he knows that neither of them would ever dare call him on it. Not even when it’s their Saturday morning they’re giving up to be at his beck and call.

Jensen showers quickly—doesn’t shave—and throws on a pair of jeans and a Henley over still-damp skin, before padding downstairs with towel-dried hair, stubble and bare feet.

He finds Jared, JP and Mark in the kitchen. JP and Mark are sitting at the table going through the paperwork and Jared is at the stove making bacon and eggs.

All three turn to look at him when he walks into the room.

JP looks at him the same way he looks at everyone; as if they're something tasty he’d like to eat, but both Jared and Mark are sending appreciative looks his way and Jensen has to admit that he kind of likes that.

"Well now," Mark drawls. "Looks like somebody got ridden hard and put away wet."

Jared actually growls at that and Mark laughs.

"Down Moose," he says, "everybody knows Squirrel here is yours. But thoroughly debauched is a good look on him, you'd have to be made of stone not to appreciate that."

"Stop objectifying me," Jensen says, with a fake pout.

Mark tilts his head. "Stop pretending you don't enjoy being objectified."

Jensen decides not to dignify that comment with a response, instead making a beeline for the coffee pot, pouring himself a cup and adding in sugar and a generous amount of cremer.

Jared wraps an arm around his waist from behind and pulls him in, kissing his cheek and whispering into his ear. "Mark's right, well-fucked really is a good look on you."

"Yeah, yeah," Jensen grumbles, but even he can hear the arousal in his voice.

He pulls away from Jared which earns him a slap on the ass. Given how tender said ass already is, it actually fucking hurts and it's a minor miracle he doesn't spill his coffee.

He gives Jared the finger along with an impressive glare. He sits— _carefully_ —at the kitchen table, takes a long slurp of coffee and then asks JP and Mark for their thoughts.

Jared slides a plate of bacon, eggs, hash-browns and grilled tomato in front of him with an apologetic face and Jensen accepts with a nod.

As Jensen eats his breakfast and drinks his coffee his listens to JP explaining that the share transfer document is really very stock standard and so long as Jensen is happy with the price he's being offered, if he does wish to sell his shares, JP can't see a reason why he shouldn't.

"Okay," Jensen nods. "So if I sign this today, when do I get the money?"

Mark steps in to explain that because ownership won't pass to him until his thirtieth birthday, he can't actually execute the document until then.

"Provided," Mark adds, "that the felony convictions clause in your grandfather's will hasn't been activated by then."

Jared's eyes narrow. " _What_ clause?" he says.

"I lose my entitlement to the shares if I'm charged with a felony before my 30th birthday and the charge leads to a conviction," Jensen explains.

Jared's eyes widen. "Shit," he tilts his head and stares at Jensen. “In that case, you’re benched from Club business until after your birthday.”

Jensen shrugs. “Yeah, okay,” he says.

“Any other questions?” Stuart asks. “Further instructions?”

Jared and Jensen both shake their heads.

“In that case,” Stuart snaps his briefcase shut and stands up, “I’ll contact Goldwater and tell him we intend to accept the offer. In the meantime, I need to have a word with Sam.”

Jensen’s ears prick up. “You’ve found something?”

Stuart pulls a face. “Nothing good. I managed to confirm that Sam’s parental rights _weren’t_ terminated. And I finally got a name and address for Kathy’s last foster care placement, but I thought I’d do my due diligence and have my legal investigator, Edgar, check it out before we gave Sam the news.”

His mouth forms a grim line.

“I’m guessing she wasn’t there,” Jared says dryly.

“Nope,” Stuart shakes his head. “Ran away two years ago. Apparently she had a habit of doing that. But this last time she was fifteen, so the social worker just shrugged her shoulders and lightened her workload by signing off on visits she never made. The foster parents had four other foster kids, so getting paid for a kid they no longer had, was money for jam for them.”

Jared makes an angry noise in the back of his throat.

Jensen presses his leg against Jared’s in a way he hopes is comforting.

“Any leads on where Kathy is now?” he asks Stuart.

Stuart glances at Jared, before directing his answer to Jensen.

“Edgar thought one of the foster siblings might have known something, but she wouldn’t talk,” he looks back at Jared and hands him a slip of paper. “Maybe you’d have better luck?”

Jared takes the bit of paper, but doesn’t comment, and Stuart heads out to the guest house to see Sam. Mark, too, makes his excuses and leaves.

“Gonna talk to the kid?” Jensen asks.

Jared nods. He takes a deep breath, then says, voice tightly controlled, “Might have a word with the foster parents and the social worker too.”

Jensen expected nothing less. “You want company for that?”

Jared’s eyes narrow. “I’ll take Rachel with me. You’re benched, remember?”

Jensen pulls a face, but doesn’t argue. “When are you gonna go?”

“Today. Soon as we’re done here.”

They finish breakfast in silence and when Jensen hears JP’s beamer pull out of the driveway, he tells Jared he’s going to go and see how Sam’s doing.

Jared nods approvingly. He pulls Jensen in close and kisses him thoroughly.

“I’ll call if I get something solid outta the kid,” he says.

Jensen nods. “Good luck,” he pauses. “Be careful.”

He means with the foster parents and the social worker. He knows enough of Jared’s history to understand that he won’t be able to stop himself from handing them a lesson in what happens when you fail to protect the children in your care; he wouldn’t be Jared if he didn’t. But these people are not part of the criminal underworld, and that makes them unpredictable.

Jared responds to Jensen’s concern by rolling his eyes.

“I mean it,” Jensen says. “I don’t wanna have to spend my billions by myself because you’re in prison for murder.”

Jared rolls his eyes even harder. “Ain’t gonna kill ‘em,” he says.

Jensen regards him intently with narrowed eyes and then nods and heads out to the guest house.

When Sam answers the door, her eyes are red-rimmed and her fingernails are bitten down.

“Can I come in?” Jensen asks.

Sam widens the door and allows him inside. She marches into the living room and sits down on the sofa, anger radiating from every pore. There’s a bottle of butterscotch schnapps and a shot glass on the coffee table, and beside that a pack of Virginia slims and a lighter.

“We’ll find her,” Jensen promises. “Jared’s on it.”

Sam nods. Her lips quiver and tears fall from her eyes. She wipes at them angrily.

“Fucking system,” she spits, “fucking _assholes_. They don’t care. I know I broke the law, but Kathy did nothing! Kathy needed _protection_. And they let her fall through the cracks, easy as pie.”

Jensen can’t think of anything to say that won’t be completely inadequate, so he just pulls Sam into his arms and holds her tight, let’s her cry into the fabric of his Henley.

“We’ll find her,” he says again. “I promise.”

\--

Another thing that Jensen loves about the new place is…well…to be honest he hasn’t decided whether to call it the Jen-cave or the Fortress of Jen-itude. But there’s a lot to love about Jensen’s second-favorite room in the house. For starters, it’s the home of his seriously awesome pool table; a custom made, oversized 8-footer, with a wood-backed slate playing surface, blended cloth that’s 75% blood-red wool, and a frame made from high-gloss black marble. Jared commissioned it for him as an anniversary present. The Jen-cave also has a couple of large, comfortable black sofas and a massive flat-screen hung on the wall, a surround sound system, and a well-stocked bar.

Jensen pours himself another bourbon on the rocks and hands Sam another schnapps. 

“You wanna play again?” he asks.

Sam shakes her head with a wry grin. “I think losing four straight games in a row is enough.”

She settles herself down on one of the sofas, fishes her Virginia slims out of her purse and lights up. “You’re really good,” she nods at the pool table. “You should play professionally.”

Jensen pulls a face. “I do.”

Sam rolls her eyes. “You hustle.”

Jensen watches as Sam draws back on her cigarette. He’s been good today. He figures he can have one. He ducks behind the bar and brings out the pack of Marlboro Reds he keeps hidden in one of the cupboards.

“I hustle,” he says. “Yes. Thus earning money from playing pool. Which is the literal definition of ‘professional’.”

Sam snorts and takes another drag. “Well I meant, play, you know, tournaments. Like Pot Black.”

Jensen looks at her in horror. “That was _snooker_ , Sam.”

Sam waves a hand. “Balls, sticks, whatever.”

Jensen shakes his head, lighting up and taking a long, satisfying drag. “I don’t even know you right now.”

He catches Sam looking askance at the cigarette in his hand and raises an eyebrow. “What? It’s my first one today.”

“How’s the quitting going anyway?” she asks.

Jensen pulls a face. “It sucks. The less I do this,” he waves the smoke, “the more I want to do other things.”

“Like…” Sam lowers her voice. “Harder things. Like…before?”

Jensen shrugs. “That. Or. I dunno. Rob a bank. Go sky-diving. Sometimes I even miss Heyday’s knives.”

His confession about the knives makes Sam look deeply uneasy and Jensen sighs.

“I know,” he says. “It’s fucked up. _I’m_ fucked up. Being with Jared helps. Before—after rehab—when I was still in Texas,” Jensen runs a hand through his hair, “I had to settle for...little adrenalin jolts. A rough fuck in a dirty alley here, a bar brawl there. I drank too much and I chain-smoked and I was so fucking miserable. Getting picked up by HellSpawn’s Dallas chapter and given to Jared probably saved my life, because the path I was on, I was gonna self-destruct eventually. Staying clean still ain’t easy, but a lot of people have a lot worse shit to deal with,” he shrugs, “Like Jared. Like you. So.”

“You think our lives are worse than yours?” Sam asks with a frown.

Jensen shrugs again. “I had more choices than you guys.”

“Really? Did you choose to be gay? Did you choose to have homophobic parents? Did you choose to have a ruthless, powerful asshole for a father?”

“Doesn’t let me off the hook,” Jensen says mulishly. “I could’ve said no to the coke.”

“I guess,” Sam says. “And I could’ve said no to Ricky. I could’ve insisted on a condom. I could’ve got an abortion. I could’ve stayed with him and never made him mad. I had _choices_ too, Jensen. Only sometimes, our choices aren’t really choices, are they? We were both young and stupid and sure, we made some bad decisions, but sometimes there are no good decisions to make. Sometimes, you’ve just gotta get through the day, however you can.” 

\--

It’s late afternoon when Jared gets home. He’s got Rachel with him.

“Did you find her?” Sam asks the moment they’re through the door.

Jared shakes his head, but then another two motorbikes roar up the driveway and Jensen figures it must be Danneel, Chad, Gen and Katie, because no-one from Security even bothers to call them. Jared forestalls his story until they arrive, walking right in as if they live there, which, Jensen muses, they may as well given how often they make use of the guest rooms.

“The foster sister gave me another name. Jake, a former foster brother, that Kathy was tight with,” Jared says when they’re all gathered around the sofas in the Fortress of Jen-itude. “We tracked him down to the local Weiner Hut where he works part time. He’s now going by the name Dustin Novak and he lives with some guy called Randy,” Jared wrinkles his nose. “Possibly not his real name. He’s a kind of father-figure to homeless kids, gets them to steal for him.”

Jensen snorts. “A real life Fagin, huh?”

Jared frowns. “A what?”

“A Fagin. Like in Oliver.”

Jared’s frown deepens.

“It’s a musical,” Danneel says.

Jared’s eyebrows shoot up.

“About orphans, street kids and crime,” Jensen adds. “You’d like it.”

Jared looks extremely dubious.

“Shut the fuck up about movies,” Sam bursts out. “How are we gonna find Kathy?”

“She’s going by Claire Novak now,” Jared says gently. “And Dustin’s gonna set up a meeting for us.”

“Do you trust him?” Sam asks.

“Nope,” Jared shakes his head. “But I know where he lives, I know where he works and I’ve got a picture of him on my phone. I made it clear that if he didn’t come through for us I’d track him down,” he pauses. “And he knows who I am.”

Sam nods. “Did you tell him why you’re looking for Kathy?”

Jared shakes his head. “Said it was about a job.”

Sam’s eyes narrow. “So who’s gonna come with me?”

Jared tilts his head and Sam’s hands ball into fists.

“Don’t even _think_ about leaving me out of the initial meet. She’s my _daughter_.”

“Maybe we should ease her into it? Seeing you might be too big a shock for her.”

“No,” Sam spits. “I need to see her,” she takes a deep breath. “Maybe she won’t want anything to do with me, but at least I’ll get to see her.”

Jared makes eye contact with Jensen and Jensen reads the question in his eyes, knows Jared wants him to step in.

He runs a hand across his mouth. “Uh, maybe you could wait in the car at first, let us ease her into it before we bring you out?”

Sam’s shoulders slump but Jensen thinks he sees a flash of relief in her eyes too.

She nods, says okay, and pours herself another drink.

The intercom buzzes and Jensen answers it. It’s Mick calling from Security to say that Mark and Ruth are on their way and when the doorbell rings, Jensen lets them in.

Jared orders pizza for everyone and Chad puts Netflix on. After some debate they settle on _Fast Five_ and they’re two thirds of the way through the movie when the burner Jared’s carrying rings.

“Yo,” he says.

He listens without expression. Jensen can’t really hear the voice on the other end, but he can tell that it’s male.

“The Alibi,” Jared says. “Tonight at midnight. Just the two of you.”

He presses end and puts the cell phone down on the coffee table.

He looks up at Sam and grins. “It’s on.”

\--

Jared and Jensen might be motorcycle enthusiasts, but there are times when it’s useful to have a car. They’re a lot more comfortable for surveillance work for a start. And they’re easier to wait in too.

Sam lights another cigarette and Jensen takes a deep breath and sits on his hands to stop them from shaking.

“Sorry,” Sam says.

But she doesn’t put her smoke out.

Jensen gives her a tight smile. He’s good at a lot of things, but sitting ‘round waiting isn’t one of them. 

For a start, it gives him way too much time to think and what he’s mostly thinking right now is that Jared was 100% right when he said that Jensen used cigarettes as a crutch. The fact that he’s trying to quit probably also explains why he’s been wanting to scene so much lately.

Maybe he should start running or something? Jensen wrinkles his nose. Too boring.

Racing on Baby? Not street racing, that’s illegal and until he’s got the thing with the shares sorted out, Jared’s going to make sure he’s a regular Boy Scout in public. But maybe he could go to a race track? Or maybe he could get a trail bike and go trail bike riding? Winding his way through bush tracks at speed, going up and down hills, splashing through creeks, jumping over fallen trees. That could be fun?

Beside him, Sam gasps.

“Omigod. I think that’s her!”

The girl who’s caught Sam’s attention is medium height and slender with long messy blonde hair falling down over her shoulders. She’s wearing ripped faded blue jeans, a grey tee-shirt, a black leather jacket and far too much eye make up for someone her age. Jensen inclines his head. She’s objectively very pretty, but she doesn’t do anything for him personally. Neither does the guy she’s walking beside, who looks like a Class A douche. On the surface, he’s attractive enough; slicked-back dark hair, soulful brown eyes, full plump lips and a chiselled jaw; but his expression is arrogant and he walks like he expects everyone to move out of his way.

Does the girl match the photo that Sam keeps in her wallet? She could do. Jensen’s seen it enough times to know that, but he can’t be certain.

“If it’s her,” he tells Sam, “we’ll know soon enough.”

The pair disappear inside the bar and ten minutes later Jensen gets a text from Rachel, telling him that they should come inside.

Sam is practically vibrating as they make their way into the bar.

The blonde from earlier, along with Chiselled Jaw, are sitting opposite Jared and Rachel in a booth.

Jared looks up at their approach and smiles. “Jensen, Sam, this is—”

“Kathy?” Sam’s lips wibble and her hands go to her mouth. “I’ve missed you so much, baby.”

The girl’s eyes grow improbably large and for a brief moment her expression fills with a desolate, forlorn yearning, before Jensen sees her deliberately slam down the emotional shutters.

She turns back to Jared. “There is no job, is there?”

Jared shakes his head.

Kathy stands up. “Well. Thanks for nothing.”

She turns to go and Sam moves into her path. “Baby wait!”

Kathy pulls herself up to her full height, lifts her chin and steps right into Sam’s personal space.

“I have _nothing_ to say to you. You are _not_ my mom. You didn’t raise me. You washed your hands of me and gave me up to the system!”

Sam doesn’t back down. “I did no such thing,” she hisses. “I fought for you with everything I had. They told me they’d terminated my parental rights. And in prison, with no one but a revolving door of Legal Aid lawyers, there was _nothing_ I could do about it. But I have never stopped looking for you. And I have never stopped loving you.”

Jensen watches as tears track down Kathy’s face. She wipes at them angrily.

“Fuck you,” she says, voice wavering.

“Hey,” Sam reaches out a hand, but drops it when Kathy flinches away. “I’m sorry, baby. So sorry that I couldn’t be here for you. But I’m here now.”

Kathy sniffles and then visibly pulls herself together.

“I used to want this,” she says. “Back when I was still a kid. When things got…bad. And believe me, they got real damn bad…I would pray to God that you would turn up. That you’d walk right into whatever hell hole I was in at the time and take me away from it all,” she wipes at her face again. “But it’s too late now.”

“It’s never too late,” Jared says.

Kathy turns to look at him.

“What would _you_ know about it?”

“I grew up in the system too,” Jared says. “I _know_ how bad it can get.”

Kathy scoffs and rolls her eyes and then she takes a second look at Jared and apparently Jensen isn’t the only one who can see the anguish and terrible knowledge in his eyes, because Kathy’s face drains of color and she sits down heavily in her chair.

“You…?”she whispers. “They…?”

Jared doesn’t say anything, just holds her gaze and Sam makes a small, helpless sound of pain.

Jensen’s own stomach is churning, as it always does when he thinks about how the system failed Jared. He steps forward and takes Sam’s hand, squeezing reassuringly. For Sam, learning that they system failed her little girl the same way must be agonising. Jensen knows that it doesn’t always fail—Katie grew up in foster care too and she had mostly good experiences—but that doesn’t change the fact that there are predators prowling the periphery of Children’s Services, looking for vulnerable prey to pick off.

“How do you…?” Kathy shakes her head. “Something like that…How do you…?”

Jared reaches out and takes hold of her hands. “You take control. You make sure you’re never powerless again. And you make yourself a family.”

Kathy lets go of Jared’s hands. “Yeah,” she looks sideways at Chiselled Jaw. “I did the new family part.”

Jared’s eyes are soulful and imploring. “We’d like you to be part of our family too. Your mom came to us for help finding you as soon as she got out,” Jared looks up at Sam and then down at the table before meeting Kathy’s eyes again. “I’m just sorry we didn’t know to look for you sooner.”

Chiselled Jaw—who Jensen figures must be Dustin-formerly-known-as-Jake—clears his throat. “You can’t just abandon us, Claire. We need you.”

Jared’s eyes narrow. “We’re not asking you to abandon your family. Just…come spend the rest of the weekend with your mom. Please?”

Kathy looks torn and Dustin shakes his head. “Randy ain’t gonna like that. You know he needs—”

Kathy cuts him off with a quick loud cough.

“You mind giving us a minute?” she says to Jared. “I need to have a word with my brother.”

“Sure,” Jared says. “We’ll wait out front.”

Sam’s reluctant to leave, but Jensen guides her firmly outside.

“Double back,” Jared murmurs to Jensen, “and see if you can hear what they’re talking about.”

Jensen slips in between another group of people who are leaving the bar and works his way around so that he’s at the back of Kathy and Dustin’s booth, hidden behind a convenient pillar.

“…by _next_ weekend,” he hears Dustin say, voice low and urgent. “We don’t have time for this now. We need to be lifting wallets 24/7. The only reason I even came to this meeting was because he said it was about a job. I thought we could earn some real bank for a change. But if there’s no money in this, we have to go. _Now_.”

“Who says there’s no money in this?” Kathy says. “A shot-caller like Padalecki’s gotta be loaded, right? He’s young, hot, seems sweet. Maybe he’s in the market for a sugar baby?”

Dustin laughs. “Padalecki’s gay.”

“Really?”

Dustin makes a disparaging noise. “It’s common knowledge. How do you _not_ know?”

“Like I’m interested in biker gangs,” Kathy fires back. “I have zero interest in being some fat sweaty biker’s whore.”

Dustin snorts. “Tomayto, tomahto.”

Kathy glares. “There’s a difference. You _know_ what I mean.”

“Yeah, well,” Dustin drums his fingers on the table top. “It might come down to whoring if we can’t come up with the 5G that Randy owes Tommy Salinger.”

“Randy would never ask me to do that,” Kathy’s voice is shaky and Jensen can hear the uncertainty in her tone.

“No,” Dustin says heavily. “He wouldn’t _ask_. And neither would Salinger. If that’s what he decided to take in trade, he’d just take it.”

Kathy growls. “I’ll knock over the Gas’n’Sip before I bend over for some pervert. I said never again, Jake, and I meant it.”

“Dude! It’s Dustin now, remember?”

Kathy makes a snarky come back, but Jensen’s brain has suddenly figured out why the name Tommy Salinger had sounded so familiar. He’s a loan shark who works for what’s left of the Italian mob. And the only reason they’re still operating in California is because Jared allows them to. Jensen smiles grimly at the prospect of a visit to Salinger and then the smile slides off his face as he realizes Jared won’t let him take part in any necessary disciplinary action, because he’s officially benched until after his birthday. 

“What?” he hears Kathy say. “Come on, spit it out. What are you thinking?”

“Well…” the word is long and drawn out. “It’s just. Padalecki and you seemed to have a…connection. Like maybe he would want to protect you. You could drop hints that you owe big, let him drag it out of you, but insist you don’t need his help, you’ll deal with it yourself. But show him how scared you are that Salinger’s gonna hurt you. Con the cash out of him, acting real reluctant about it and then leave his ass high and dry and come back home.”

“Yeah,” Kathy says slowly. “That could work.”

\--

They get home a little after 2.00am, which isn’t particularly late by their standards. Rachel goes to crash in one of the spare rooms, Sam takes Kathy back to the guest house and ordinarily Jensen would make fun of Jared for the sappy look on his face, but given the conversation he overheard earlier, it just makes him sad.

“So,” Jared says when they’ve made their way to their own room. “This is good, yes?”

He draws Jensen in with gentle hands around his waist and kisses him tenderly.

Jensen lets himself get lost in the sensual feel of lips and tongue and then pulls back and sets his mouth into a determined line.

“We’ve gotta talk.”

Jared frowns, drops his hands from Jensen’s waist. “If this is about the shit from my past, I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Jensen reassures him that it’s not and recounts the conversation between Kathy and Jake he overheard in the bar.

“Huh,” Jared says. “Gotta feel for that kid. She’s got no idea what _family_ means.”

“You’re not pissed?”

Jared shakes his head. He goes around to his side of the bed and starts to strip. Jensen follows his lead and neither of them speaks again until they’re lying on their sides in bed, facing each other.

“When JD took me in,” Jared says, “I spent the first year doing everything I could think of to try to keep him sweet, all the time waiting for the other shoe to drop. When it didn’t,” Jared barks out a short laugh. “That’s when I got angry.”

Jensen tilts his head, brow wrinkled.

“Uncharted territory,” Jared explains. “I didn’t know what he _wanted_ and it scared the hell outta me. Some of the shit I pulled that second year,” Jared trails off in remembrance and then shakes his head. “When he still wanted me ‘round after all that, when the only bad thing that happened to me was having to deal with his disappointed face, that’s when I finally got it. We were _family_. And family, they take the good and the bad and they love you anyway. I still put him through a few more tests though, even landed myself in juvie for a while,” he sighs. “Point is, when you grow up _knowing_ that nothing _nice_ comes free, _believing_ you can trust someone is hard.” 

“Yeah,” Jensen says. “I get that.”

“I know you do,” Jared’s hand settles on Jensen’s hip. “I still remember the first time you trusted me enough to say no.”

Jensen huffs. “Yeah, well, you know I got a lotta twisted wires. There was a big, messed up part of me that seriously _liked_ the idea of not having a choice.”

“I know that too,” Jared says, his voice deepening with arousal.

Jensen’s dick starts to chub up fast. “Took me a while to figure out you liked me too much to hand me back to Pellegrino if I didn’t put out.”

Jared’s hand moves to Jensen’s ass and begins to squeeze. “Took you a lot longer to realize you were in as deep as me; to trust that I wasn’t gonna kick you to the curb if we had a serious fight.”

He’s not wrong, so Jensen doesn’t argue. He’s rapidly losing the ability to form coherent sentences anyway. Jensen closes his eyes and shudders as one of Jared’s fingers finds his hole and begins to rub, dipping in just enough to find that Jensen is still supple and stretched from the night before.

“Turn over,” Jared says, his voice as thick and dark as smoke. “Ass in the air.”

Jensen rolls onto his belly and cants his hips.

“Spread your legs.”

Jensen does as he’s told.

There’s a snap and a splurt and then Jared is perfunctorily shoving two lubed fingers into him, coating his insides just enough to ease the way, before lining himself up, resting the head of his cock against Jensen’s entrance just long enough to let the anticipation build, and then shoving himself in, deep and hard.

Jensen groans. He might be getting a lot of regular sex these days, but Jared has not gotten any smaller and, oh yeah, he definitely felt that. Jared doesn’t give him any time to adjust though, he pulls most of the way out and slams himself back in. His hands are tight cuffs around Jensen’s wrists and he’s front to back with Jensen, at full stretch, fucking him with the force of a jackhammer, while biting at his neck.

So. Jared is maybe a little more rattled by his veiled-confession to Kathy than he’d seemed. This is Jared taking what he needs, completely heedless as to whether it’s any good for Jensen or not. Which is fine. It’s something they’ve talked about; something Jensen has agreed to. It’s not what he wanted tonight, but he likes giving Jared what he needs and besides, Jared stimulates him in all the right places so it’s not like he’ll have any difficulty coming on his cock.

In fact, Jensen comes long before Jared does and by the time Jared finishes, he’s aching and sore and feeling pretty thoroughly _used_. 

“Fuck, Jay,” he hisses when Jared pulls out. “I’m gonna be feeling this for days.”

“Yeah,” Jared says smugly.

\--

Jensen wakes up when Jared pushes two fingers into his tender, well-used ass. The sun’s up and a bleary glance at the bedside clock tells him that it’s late morning. Jensen’s still loose and lubricated from last night, but he _is_ sore, he doesn’t really want sex, and yet his cock is suddenly hard and throbbing at the thought of Jared fucking him anyway. So he spreads his legs.

Jared draws a sharp breath. “You sure?” he says.

Jensen buries his head in his folded arms and cants his hips in reply. Jared takes him slowly and Jensen can’t help his groans, half pleasure, half pain, as Jared fills him up, his cock rubbing up against all the right places and bringing Jensen to a very satisfying orgasm. Once Jensen has finished coming, Jared raises himself up on his arms and chases his own release, pounding Jensen but good. Jensen likes this part because he doesn’t like it, which makes perfect sense in _his_ head; he stopped worrying about the crossed pleasure/pain wires in his brain a long time ago.

Jared’s very careful with him afterwards, bundling him into the shower and washing him tenderly, pampering him and helping him dress. Jared is also a man of sharp contrasts; Jensen has seen the very hands that are ministering to him so gently beat an abusive pimp to death.

“C’mon,” Jared says. “Let’s see if anyone’s got breakfast started yet.”

Rachel’s at the stove, cooking bacon, eggs, hash-browns and toast. There’s a carafe of freshly brewed coffee and Jensen makes a beeline straight for it, pouring himself a cup and then heading for the kitchen table. He takes some ribbing for the careful way he sits down, but post-orgasm, pre-coffee he’s not up to much snark.

Once the caffeine starts to kick in, Jensen realizes that Sam and Kathy aren’t here and he guesses they’re enjoying some quiet ‘get-to-know-you’ time in the privacy of Sam’s personal quarters.

Gen, Chad and Katie are still here too, but Danneel, and Mark and Ruthie are not; which is not unusual. Mark and Ruthie have their own almost-mansion, and Danneel is an employee of their legitimate business and a pool hustler, but she’s not a member of the Club, not even a sweetbutt. She has a whole life outside of them, for all that she’s become a good friend.

“Gonna have a chat with Tommy Salinger today,” Jared announces. “I wanna know what’s going on with this Randy dude and I wanna make sure he understands that Kathy is not someone he wants to mess with.”

Jensen looks up and Jared makes eye contact with him. Jared’s eyes are capable of communicating a lot, so Jensen knows what he’s going to say before he says it.

“Need you to sit this one out, Jen.”

“It’s just a chat,” Jensen says reasonably.

Jared nods. “A chat that’s related to Club business. I don’t want you anywhere near that until this deal with the shares comes through.”

“What deal?” Rachel and Chad ask simultaneously.

Jared explains and Jensen eats his bacon and eggs. He can feel everyone’s eyes on him, boring into him.

When Jared’s done talking, Jensen lifts his head.

“Questions?” he demands.

The silence feels heavy with things unsaid.

“Fuck,” it’s Chad who eventually breaks the silence, “you really are stupidly fuckin’ rich aren’t you?”

“Not yet,” Jensen says.

“But his old man is,” Jared adds. “And if we want Jensen to get his hands on that money, he’s gotta be a real boy scout between now and his birthday.”

Rachel snorts.

Jensen lifts his chin. “You got somethin’ to say?”

Rachel shakes her head. “Just tryin’ to picture you in a boy scout uniform. It’s creepy.”

“Fuck you,” Jensen says, reflexively.

Rachel smirks. “Aw sweetheart, don’t go makin’ offers you can’t follow through on. We both know I ain’t your type.”

Jared glares and clears his throat loudly. “So anyway… Rachel, Chad, you’re coming with me. Rachel, call Yellow Eyes and ask him to meet us at The Alibi at two this afternoon.”

Rachel’s eyes go all gooey at the mention of her crush and Jensen sniggers, earning himself a one-fingered salute.

“Chad,” Jared continues, “call Salinger’s Ezycash and get him there by then too.”

Jensen helps himself to another coffee and listens to Rachel and Chad on their phones making arrangements, watches Jared barking instructions in full Presidential mode, and bums a cigarette off Katie, some God-awful menthol thing, but at least it helps calm his nerves.

Once the others have gone, Katie and Gen help Jensen clean up the kitchen and then they leave too. Jensen is debating whether to go and check on Sam and Kathy or head over to Gok’s Pool Hall for a few games when his cell phone rings.

Jensen grins when he sees that it’s Ruthie. They didn’t have a lot of time to talk last night; in fact it’s been a while since they hung out and that’s a shame, because Ruthie is one of Jensen’s favorite people. He wonders if Jared put her up to this, to keep him occupied so he doesn’t sulk about being kept out of Club business.

“Well hello, High Priestess of the HellSpawn Coven,” he answers her call with a grin.

“ _Queen_ Jensen,” she snarks.

“Most powerful piece on the board,” he says solemnly. “You convinced me a long time ago that wasn’t an insult. What’s up?”

Ruthie sighs. “Actually, it’s the Club’s Queen I need. We’ve got a Nomad coming into town.”

Nomads were Club members who’d severed ties with the charter they originally belonged to and gone on the road, wandering the country. It was customary for the Club branch in whatever city they landed in to put them up in their clubrooms for as long as they wanted to stay. If it seemed like they wanted to put down roots, they might be offered a full membership eventually, but often, Nomads just stayed for a few days or weeks and then left.

Jensen frowns. Mark is the Club’s official VP, but effectively Ruthie is the joint VP. Between the two of them they are more than capable of getting a Nomad squared away at the clubrooms—sending in a couple of sweetbutts and their latest Prospect to keep him company—without Jensen’s help. He says as much to Ruthie and she sighs again.

“Aye, well, firstly, Mark’s gone to help Jay lay down the law to some loan shark, so it’s just me. And secondly, this Nomad, up until recently, was the Sergeant-at-arms for the HellSpawn charter in Miami.”

“Miami,” Jensen says slowly. “They were one of the ones that tried to challenge Jared for control of the Mother Charter. Their President was a pathetic blond douchebag called _Fernando_. I wiped the floor with him, broke his arm in three places.”

“I remember,” Ruthie says. “Did you know that Fernando’s his biker nickname? His family’s from Sweden originally and when he was a Prospect they always used to play ABBA whenever he walked into the Club, just to piss him off.”

Jensen splutters out a laugh. “No shit? Really?”

He doesn’t doubt her. Ruthie has always made it her business to know everything there is to know about everyone. Jay still sometimes speculates that she’s a real-life witch with supernatural powers. Jensen just thinks she’s a very clever woman.

“So I’ve heard,” Ruthie demurs. “His real name is ‘Darrvid not Dayvid’ Hoflin and he’s is not, shall we say, a fan, of the LGBT community. The biker who’s coming down, Ty Olsson, nicknamed Benny, nothing to do with ABBA, apparently let it slip recently that he bats for your team. He and Fernando had a falling out and Benny left.”

So, okay, Jensen can see why Ruthie wants him to meet with Benny. Fernando’s a troublemaker and Benny might have intel on his current mindset. They’d decided to leave Fernando in place after Jensen kicked his ass; he’d seemed appropriately chastised and he’d slunk away with his tail between his legs, but they’d still flagged the guy as a potential threat. 

“Okay,” Jensen starts to say, but Ruthie cuts him off.

“There’s more,” she says. “The nickname? Benny? Short for _benzodiazepine.”_

Jensen’s mouth goes dry. “The guy’s an addict?”

“Recovering,” Ruthie says.

Fuck. Jensen runs a hand over his mouth. “When’s he due in?”

Mid-afternoon, Ruthie tells him.

\--

The Club’s latest Prospect, Alex, is playing pool with Rollie, his sponsor, and Jensen is itching to go over there and correct the kid’s stance.

Gen and Katie are flitting around getting things organized for the Nomad’s arrival and Ruthie has finished briefing Jensen on all the intel she’s managed to collect about the man. He sounds like a stand-up guy and Jensen wonders if he’ll want to stay. Ruthie had showed him photos too and Jensen has to confess that Ty Olsson aka Benny is exactly the type of bear he would’ve happily taken home from a bar, pre-Jared.

It’s something they’ve talked about. Sort of. Well. Jared likes to tell Jensen that one day he’ll tie him to a breeding bench and make him ride a train. Jensen’s pretty sure it’s just Jared running his mouth, because his boyfriend is possessive. He’s mostly pretty sure anyway. It’s a fantasy that gets them both off hard. Jensen just hasn’t decided yet whether they would be best to keep it a fantasy or give it a try.

The intercom rings and Jensen startles out of his thoughts and glances at the security monitor. The big guy with the dark helmet could be Benny, it’s hard to tell. It’s _not_ hard to see that there’s a smaller figure sitting behind him and Ruthie makes a small noise, because the news that the biker from Miami was travelling with someone had not made it into her information dossier.

“Huh,” Jensen says and goes across and lifts the intercom’s handset. “Hello?”

The rider pushes his visor up.

“Ty Olsson,” he says, in a deep voice with a slight Cajun accent, “I spoke to Ruth earlier. I’m expected.”

“You are, yeah,” Jensen says. “The person on the back of your bike? Not so much.”

There’s a pause and then Benny takes the helmet off completely. “This here is Alex,” he says. “I picked her up along the way. We’ve been a long time on the road and we’d really appreciate your hospitality.”

Ty settles back on his bike, apparently content to wait. Jensen likes his calm demeanor. He senses that Ty won’t make a fuss if Jensen says he can’t bring Alex in, he’ll just leave. The girl wasn’t expected, but Jensen can’t think of any reason not to let her in, so he presses the button and opens the gate into the grounds of J2 Motorcycles—Custom Builders and Dealers.

“The building ‘round the back is the Clubroom,” he tells Ty.

Ty puts his helmet back on and rides in. He parks, dismounts and then enters the Clubroom with a duffle bag in each hand and Alex in tow.

Up close, Jensen notes that Ty is a fraction shorter than him, but a lot broader. Ty drops his bags to grip Jensen’s outstretched hand and then pulls him in for a backslapping hug.

“Good to meet you, brother,” he says.

“Right back atcha.”

Gen and Katie take Alex to freshen up and Rollie sends the Prospect to man the bar and then joins Jensen, Ruthie and Ty, who are arranging themselves in the collection of sofas and armchairs spread around in front of the bar.

“Alex,” Ty says when he’s got a cold beer in front of him, “she’s a sad story. Met her just outside of Hot Springs, Arkansas. She was in a roadhouse bar, all dolled up, luring men into the back alley so that her brothers could beat them up and rob them. We got to talkin’…the poor girl just seemed so sad. She tried to warn me off, said I shouldn’t come out back with her, but I knew what was goin’ on. I schooled those boys good. Spur of the moment, Alex asked if I could take her with me, so I did. Since then, she’s let a few things slip here and there.”

Ty pauses and takes a long drink. “For starters, her real name is Kathy and she’s originally from Dry Creek, West Virginia. She was raised by her grandma, until the age of twelve when her ‘momma’ and her ‘brothers’ came on by and told her grandma they could offer Kathy a better life. Her grandma wasn’t in the best of health and that ‘momma’—woman by the name of Celia…I’m still workin’ on getting a surname—she conned grandma something good. They changed Kathy’s name to Alex and started using her as a lure pretty much straight away. Started pimping her out—and the brothers started using her themselves—a couple years later. When I learned that, I had half a mind to go back and finish those boys off proper. Alex begged me not to.”

“The poor wee lamb,” Ruthie cries. Her face is a picture of abject horror, edged with fury.

Ty nods. “I made a few phone calls after that conversation, tried to find grandma, but she passed three years back,” he sighs. “Alex ain’t got no-one and she ain’t real trusting. But she’s put her trust in me, and I ain’t gonna break it.”

“Whatever you need,” Jensen says. “You and Alex.”

He’s surprised, as the words flow from his mouth, to find that he really means it. Ty is HellSpawn and Alex…she’s been through Hell.

They’re already family. 


	3. Chapter 3

Jensen called Sam earlier, told her to come down to the Club with Kathy, so that Alex would have someone closer to her own age to hang out with.

Okay, yeah, Alex the Prospect is here, and he’s eighteen, but he’s also on the spectrum and Jensen hadn’t been sure that the new Alex…girl Alex…would be able to deal with him.

Alex the Prospect is something of an acquired taste. Jensen likes him a lot, as does Jared, but he can be annoyingly literal. Also, tact is a social skill that Alex hasn’t managed to develop yet and his blunt honesty can come across as rudeness if you don’t know him. 

Turns out, though, that Girl Alex is getting along with the Prospect a lot better than she’s getting along with Kathy. Girl Alex is kind and patient and Kathy—Kathy’s kind of a brat, to be honest. Jensen grimaces, rubs a hand across the back of his neck and wishes he didn’t see so much of himself in her.

He helps himself to another beer and calls out, “Yo Rollie? Prospect needs a road name. Can’t have two Alexes, it’s too confusing.”

The nomad—who has asked everyone to call him Benny—clears his throat. “Maybe my Alex would like to go back to her real name? Kathy?”

Girl Alex shakes her head. “Hell no. That girl is dead and buried.”

“Besides,” Sam says. “That’s my girl’s name.”

“I’ve been going by Claire lately,” Kathy reminds her.

Sam’s face falls, just a little. “I know, baby,” she says. “and I’ll call you that if you really want, but…I gave you the name Kathy and…it’s how I think of you. How I thought of you all those years, worrying if you were safe. I just…”

Kathy huffs, rolls her eyes. “It’s fine, Kathy’s fine.”

Jensen’s watching her closely though, and even though she’s oozing attitude, he thinks he sees her eyes become just a little less dead.

“So Rollie?” he says. “Any thoughts yet on a road name?”

Rollie shakes his head. “Ain’t nothing come up that seems right. Don’t wanna rush it, you know, or it won’t stick.”

“What’s your road name, Jensen?” Kathy asks.

Jensen licks at his lips. “Ain’t got one.”

Ruthie smirks wickedly. “It’s Queen,” she says.

Jensen points at her. “You shut your pie-hole, Witchy-Poo.”

Ruthie cackles and Jensen turns back to Kathy. “It’s not,” he says. “I really don’t have one.”

The door bangs open and Jared, Rachel, Mark, Yellow Eyes and Chad walk in.

“You don’t have what?” Jared asks.

“A road name,” Ruthie pipes up.

“Squirrel,” Mark says.

“Squirrel?” Kathy giggles. “That’s worse than Queen!”

“It’s not Squirrel!” Jensen scowls. “Or Queen. I don’t have a road name.”

“Used to be D-Dawg,” Yellow Eyes says.

“Omigod!” Jensen knows he’s pouting, but he can’t help it.

He stalks to the back of the bar and rummages through the cupboards until he finds the pack of Marlboro he stashed there for emergencies.

He lights up. “Fuck the lot of you. We were talking about the Prospect.”

Jared turns to Rollie. “You got a name for him? Got a good story behind it?”

Rollie shakes his head. “No name yet.”

Kathy asks what a Prospect is and Jared explains that it’s someone who’s applied for membership, but is still working to earn it: a prospective member.

“Boy does what we tell him,” Rollie says, slinging an arm around Alex the Prospect’s shoulders. “Odd jobs, errands. He’s gotta learn everything about how a club runs so we can figure where he’ll fit in.”

Kathy nods. “So a Prospect’s a sort of Jack of All Trades?”

“Omigod!” Girl Alex suddenly exclaims. “I’ve been thinking he looked familiar and…hang on,” she runs to Benny’s duffle bag and rifles through it, coming back with a battered, dog-eared pack of cards. She shuffles through them and then pulls one out. “Look!”

Jensen peers over her shoulder at the card she’s showing Jared. It’s the Jack of Hearts and yeah…he grins…the Jack on the card has the same strong jaw-line and doe-eyed innocent expression as the Prospect.

Jared shows the card to Rollie. “What d’you think?”

Rollie shrugs. “Jack? Could fit. Let’s see if it sticks.”

The Prospect beams. “Jack,” he says, inclining his head briefly and then nodding. “I like it.”

Girl Alex beams. “C’mon, Jack,” she says linking arms with the Prospect. “Let’s go play some pool.”

Gen ducks behind the bar and starts pouring shots, slicing up limes, Katie puts a CD on, the greatest hits of Mullet Rock or some such thing, and before long there’s a party in full swing.

“So,” Jensen drapes an arm around Jared’s shoulders, presses his thigh against Jared’s and leans in close. “How’d it go with Salinger?”

Jared pulls a face. “He said all the right things, but I dunno Jen,” he pauses, runs a hand through his hair. “I’m not sure he really took me seriously. I almost felt like he was…I dunno, just…humoring me,” he looks at Jensen, his brow furrowed. “The guy should’ve been quivering in his boots. Do you think I’m losing my edge?”

Jensen shrugs. “Been a while since we really had to kick ass. Guys like him, they got short memories.”

Privately Jensen wonders if Salinger didn’t take Jay seriously because he didn’t bring his sergeant-at-arms—aka Jensen—along to the meeting. But he doesn’t say anything because it would probably just piss Jared off.

“If he tries anything,” he says, “you’ll have to make an example of him.”

Jared snorts. “That’ll be cold comfort for Kathy and Sam.”

“I’ll keep an eye on them,” Jensen promised. “Even if I’m not good for much else til the money comes through, at least I can do that.” 

\--

Kathy’s promise to stay for the weekend, turns into a promise to stay for the week. She drops a few subtle hints about money troubles, but they really are subtle and Jensen is kind of impressed. She’s running a near perfect con job and if it wasn’t for the fact that they know what she’s up to, Jensen thinks that even he and Jared would be taken in by her.

Jensen has a couple of big custom paint jobs in the works and given that he’s been banned from any Club activity that could even remotely skirt the borders of legality—which let’s face it, is most of it—he spends long hours in his workshop. When he’s not knee deep in stencil designs and enamel spray paint, he hangs out with Benny, playing pool, shooting the breeze, and he keeps a close eye on Sam and Kathy.

Jensen likes Benny a lot. As a friend. And he wouldn’t say no to a round of hot sweaty sex with him either, except for how he probably would say no, because he likes Benny and thinks he’s hot, but he loves Jared and has apparently turned into the sort of sap who would never cheat on his man. Also, he’s not entirely sure how Jared would react to that, but he bets his reaction would be nothing good and Jensen is not cool with the idea of Benny mysteriously disappearing one day.

But they enjoy each other’s company and the guy isn’t too bad a pool player. And Jensen likes the way Benny looks out for Alex and how gentle and tolerant he is with the Prospect. Even Kathy who is all sharp edges and prickly thorns seems to warm to him.

Jensen wishes she would warm to him too, but while she seems to dislike most people on principle, Kathy seems to almost _hate_ him. 

He mentions it casually to Benny one day while they’re playing pool. The nomad lines up a bank shot, his brows furrowed ponderously while he rebounds the yellow ball off the center of the far side woodwork into the nearside corner pocket.

Jensen nods approvingly. “Nice. You should come play down at the pool hall sometime.”

Benny allows himself a faint grin as he chalks the tip of his cue.

“I think,” he says slowly, “that Kathy sees you as a rival for her mother’s affections.”

Jensen gapes at him. “But I’m _gay_ ,” he says. 

Benny gives him a patient look. “ _Maternal_ affections,” he says. “Maybe she ain’t old enough, but Sam’s got this whole ‘mom’ vibe going on with you. I think maybe Kathy’s jealous.”

Jensen stares at him.

“So you’re saying I’ve somehow gotten myself the bratty little sister I never wanted?”

Benny’s smile is a shade rueful as he leans over to take his next shot. “Now you’re gettin’ it, brother.”

When Benny misses, Jensen settles in to clear the table. Benny watches stoically and laughs, good-natured, when the game is over.

“Well I think I’m done,” he says. “Anyone else want to come and lose to Jensen?”

Nobody does, so they sit and drink for a while, swapping stories about club life that could probably get them both fifteen to life if anybody was wearing a wire. Luckily, Charlie has set up several kick ass systems that keep J2 Motorcycles, the clubrooms and the house squeaky clean.

And speaking of _squeaky clean_ , that’s one thing they don’t talk much about, beyond a shared acknowledgement that they’re both addicts in recovery, and what helps. Jensen has more recovery time under this belt, but Benny seems like he’s doing a lot better.

“Withdrawal was a bitch,” he tells Jensen, “never want to go through that again.”

These days he works out, lifts weights and meditates and that seems to keep his dopamine levels high enough to fend off his desire to mainline Ativan.

“How about you?” Benny asks.

Jensen meets his eyes, raises his chin. “Kinky sex and violence.”

Benny nods, lips twitching. “That’ll do it.”

And that’s that conversation.

Kathy takes off on her own a couple of times and Sam freaks the fuck out, but she comes back both times. The third time she does it, Jensen follows her, which is how he learns where Randy lives. Kathy only visits for an hour and then she makes her way back to the compound, so Jensen doesn’t mention it to her, just tells Jared about it that night. Jared doesn’t seem too worried, but he does instruct Jensen to run it past him before he tails her again. He’s wearing his _President_ face when he says it, so Jensen nods.

Jensen tells everyone—Club, friends, security staff—to keep a close eye on Kathy; to not let her go out alone; and by Friday, Kathy’s pacing like a caged tiger. She hasn’t outright asked for money yet. In Jensen’s professional opinion it’d be too soon. A week isn’t really long enough for a con like this, not with people you just met; you need time to build rapport. Personally, Jensen wouldn’t try a con like this unless he had at least a month to work with.

Still, her pacing and snappiness is pissing everybody off so Jensen puts her on the back of his bike and takes her up to Castle Park to play mini golf.

It’s a good move. Games involving balls and sticks are kind of Jensen’s forte and it turns out that Kathy actually likes mini golf.

Jensen hits a red ball which rolls down the green, bounces into a wall and sinks into a hole.

“Oh!” he crows, spinning around and pointing at Kathy. “It’s in the hole! It’s in the hole.”

Kathy looks at him like he’s lost his mind.

“Bill Murray? Caddyshack? It’s a classic.”

Kathy shrugs. “Never seen it. Must be one of those old movies from before my time.

Jensen gives her a look that has been known to make grown men piss themselves, but she’s utterly unrepentant and not in the slightest bit cowed.

Good for her. Jensen’s actually a little bit proud.

“Are you done?” Kathy says and Jensen moves out of the way to let her take her shot.

She lines it up and sinks her ball just as easily as he did.

Jensen turns his head to hide his grin.

“Did you ... did you see that?” Kathy spins to face him. “Did that go in the hole? I wasn't watching. Did the ball go in the hole?”

Jensen rolls his eyes. “Happy Gilmore. Well played.”

Kathy tries to talk him into taking her to a bar for a drink before they head home, arguing quite persuasively that he for sure was drinking and worse before he was twenty-one and, besides he isn’t exactly a law abiding citizen on his best days.

“All true,” Jensen says, handing Kathy her helmet, “But your mom would kick my ass if I even thought about letting you drink.”

She glares, of course, but he catches her soft smile in the wing mirror, just before she puts her helmet on.

\--

On Saturday the Club takes part in the local Red Cross Blood Drive and Charity Fundraiser. It’s an annual event organized by Brianna Buckmaster, manager of the Youth Center on Vine and general doer of good for the local community. She also rides for the Hollywood chapter of Dykes on Bikes. Her partner is Kim Rhodes. Detective Kim Rhodes. As in a cop.

Kim doesn’t really _approve_ of Jared and Jensen—or HellSpawn in general—but she has a soft spot for Jared and Jared milks it for all it’s worth. Bri told Jensen, at that Christmas thing that HellSpawn helped to organize for the kids last year, that Kim used to work Juvenile Division. That, combined with the devastated looks she sometimes gives Jared tells Jensen that at the very least, she’s seen Jared’s juvenile record. Mostly he’s in the records as a victim, with some vagrancy, petty theft and car boosting in there as well. Jensen imagines it ain’t pretty reading. Even the little he knows—and he knows he doesn’t know anywhere near everything—paints an ugly picture of a thoroughly ruined childhood.

Jared uses Kim’s knowledge as a shield, giving her puppy eyes and dimples and cynically manipulating her reluctance to participate in hurting him in any way. Jared teases out her mothering instinct. He makes her feel protective.

Thanks to Charlie, the Club knows that Kim actually _is_ a mother. Her son lives with his father back in Bumfuck, North Dakota. Kim and her husband divorced when the kid was five and Kim lost custody of him when she moved in with Bri. Apparently the judge was anti-gay enough that Kim being a police officer didn’t win her any bonus points, and being a lesbian lost her a lot. She was denied visitation on the grounds that her home life wasn’t something a child should be exposed to and when her ex remarried, to a pillar of their local Church-going community, Kim decided that three years spent in a bitter custody battle was enough, it would be better for her son if she just bowed out, so she and Bri moved to Los Angeles and started over. 

Jensen thinks the whole thing sucks ass, but it is what it is. Maybe one day the kid will come looking for his mom. Jensen hopes so.

The assembled Club, riding in formation down to De Longpre Park, is an impressive sight and they attract attention. Which was a huge part of the point; getting people to the park, to the mobile clinic where a team of nurses are taking blood donations, is the Club’s job.

Jared and Jensen won’t be donating, of course, what with that whole ‘male to male intercourse’ thing they’ve got going on, and neither will Benny, for the same reason, but plenty of other Club members and friends are going to donate and they’ve all been doing their best to drum up support.

As have Dykes on Bikes, who arrived earlier that morning.

“Jensen!” Bri bounds across and hugs him. “You and Jared up for manning the grill for a while? Give some of the others a break?”

“Sure,” Jensen waggles his eyebrows. “Always up for taking care of some meat.”

Bri giggles and slaps his arm. “Oh you.”

She peers behind him. “Got some new company, I see,” her tone dips disapprovingly. “Those two look a little young to be sweetbutts.”

“That’s coz they’re not,” Jared cuts in. “Kathy’s Sam’s daughter.”

Bri gasps, her hand fluttering to her mouth.

“Yeah. We finally found her.”

Kathy’s hiding behind her loose flopping hair and a hoodie and she folds her arms and scowls at the dirt when Bri beams at her.

“And Alex is…well…let’s just say that she’s had a tough time and Benny,” the man himself steps forward with a nod and a polite greeting. “He’s looking out for her.”

Bri starts to frown again and Jared sighs. “He bats for our team, Bri.”

Benny nods. “I’m just being a responsible adult, ma’am, and helping her through a rough patch.”

Bri melts at Benny’s accent, which Jensen can totally relate to.

“Anything Kim and I can help with?”

“We’ll let you know,” Jensen guides Bri away from the group with a hand to her arm.

While Jared and Benny get themselves organized behind the grill and everyone else goes to explore the various bric-a-brac and food stalls dotted around the place, Jensen asks Bri if she’d recognized Kathy.

Bri peers at the girl’s disappearing back as she heads off with Alex and the Prospect to look at stalls.

“Hard to tell. Girl sure knows how to hide her face.”

Jensen gets out his phone and shows Bri a picture that he’d snapped of her over lunch a couple days ago.

“Oh yah,” Bri nods. “That’s Claire. She’s a tough nut. She used to come in sometimes for food, but we haven’t seen her for ooh maybe eighteen months or so now. I heard she’s running with Randy Novak’s crew these days.”

“Yeah,” Jensen runs a hand across the back of his neck. “Guy’s a regular Fagin, huh?”

Bri snorts. “Yah, for sure. Kim says the Precinct’s been after him for years, but they can never make anything stick; his crew’s too loyal to him.”

Jensen grunts. “Well if he’s targeting kids like Kathy, kids the system failed big time, then no wonder they’re loyal.”

Bri raises an eyebrow. “Hardly a kid at nineteen, Jensen.”

Jensen’s own eyebrows hit his hairline. “Kathy’s _seventeen_ , Bri.”

“Son of a gun,” Bri looks stricken. “She’s got ID says otherwise. But then it also says her name’s Claire,” she shakes her head. “Ah heck, we sure stuffed that one up, huh?”

Jensen purses his lips. “You know anything about the kind of things Randy’s crew do?”

Bri shrugs. “Petty theft mostly. Shop-lifting, pick-pocketing.”

Jensen nods. “Okay thanks.”

That matches what they’d been able to find out for themselves.

He claps her on the shoulder. “I’ll let you get back to Kim.”

Jensen goes and joins Benny and Jared at the grill.

Jared flips a burger and raises an eyebrow. “Everything cool?”

“Yeah. You need some help here?”

“Nah, we got it.”

Jared’s eyes slide across to Benny and Jensen gets the message. Jared hasn’t had a lot of time to get to know the nomad, he wants to sound him out.

“Why don’t you call Chris?” Jared tells him. “See what time him and Steve are getting here?”

Chris and Steve are playing at the charity event and, it turns out, they got into LA last night and are already at the park, over at the stage, setting up their equipment.

Jensen greets his best friend from back home with a backslapping hug.

“Jensen frigging Ackles,” Chris crows. “You look good, boy. LA sure does agree with you. That Sasquatch of yours still treating you right?”

Jensen grins. “Who you think put this smile on my face?”

Chris grimaces. “Woah. TMI, dude.”

Steve come across and does the handshake thing too and Jensen doesn’t miss the significant look that passes between his friends.

“Jen,” Chris rubs his thumb across his chin. “I’m starving, man. Come find some food with me.”

“Sure. Jay’s grilling burgers down that way,” Jensen jerks his thumb.

Chris’s nose wrinkles. “Someplace else,” he says.

He leads them toward a stand selling corndogs and Jensen wonders what’s going on. Last time Chris and Steve were in town Chris had met Jared and, despite a rocky start, the two of them had hit it off. At least, Jensen had thought they had.

“What’s going on, Chris?” he finally asks, when they’re each holding a corndog. 

Chris sighs. “Got another _request_ from the FBI to wear a wire and try to get you talkin’ ‘bout your quote unquote ‘criminal activities’. Told ’em to get fucked again. And let me tell you,” Chris gestures at him with the corndog, “Thank fuck I’m clean as a whistle, because if those assholes could heavy me in some way, they would.”

“Fuck. Chris. I’m sor—”

That’s as far as Jensen gets before he’s cut off.

“Ain’t telling you coz I want an apology. A few days after I had the feds up my ass, my old man had an interesting conversation with yours down at the Country Club. Your dad was sayin’ that you’d gotten in with a bad crowd again, that you were using again, that he was worried you were gonna get yourself into some real, felony style trouble, and whenever I was in LA, would I be on the lookout for anything like that and let him know if I saw anything illegal so that he could arrange a lawyer to save you from yourself.”

Jensen stares at Chris with wide, incredulous eyes and then his lips twitch and he throws his head back and laughs.

“Oh man,” he says. “He actually thought you would fall for that?”

Chris smiles ruefully. “My old man fell for it.”

Jensen’s smile fades. “Yeah, well. Your old man don’t really know me. For the record, I’m still clean. And you know I’d never drag you into anything that wasn’t on the up and up. You got that squeaky clean reputation to protect and I would never fuck that up for you.”

Chris nods. “So what’s going on?”

Jensen tells Chris about the shares and the felony clause in his grandfather’s will.

Chris whistles low and impressed. “So I guess Old Man Ackles wants to hold onto the shares and the money.”

Jensen nods. “Which is why Jared’s got me benched. Gotta be a good boy so we get our money.”

They catch up on less pressing matters while they wander back to the stage. The concert portion of the event doesn’t start until 4.00pm, so they’ve got plenty of time to wander the park, checking out all the stalls, and to talk.

They bump into Alex and the Prospect—who introduces himself to Chris as ‘Jack’, so Jensen guesses the name’s sticking—and Jensen frowns and looks around.

“Where’s Kathy?”

Alex shrugs. “She took off. Said she’d be back later.”

This weekend marks the deadline that Jensen overheard Dustin mentioning to Kathy. Randy has to pay Tommy Salinger five thousand dollars this weekend and even though Jared made it very clear to Salinger that Kathy was off limits, Jensen doesn’t trust that she won’t do something stupid to help Randy.

He slaps Chris on the shoulder. “Chris, I gotta take off. I’ll see you up on stage, okay?”

“Yeah you better,” Chris says. “Might even get you up there, huh?”

Jensen shakes his head. “No way.”

Chris’s grin is wicked and, fuck, Jensen just knows his buddy is going to go all out to get him up there singing.

He gives Chris a flat stare. “Not happening, Kane.”

Chris’s grin just becomes wider and wickeder.

Jensen doesn’t detour past Jared and Benny on his way to his bike. He tells himself it’s because he doesn’t want to interfere with their male bonding. Really it’s because Jared _did_ tell him to run it past him before he tailed Kathy again, but Jensen has always believed that it’s a lot easier to ask for forgiveness than permission.

Jensen figures that he’ll start at Randy’s. He pulls up around the corner and then dithers, not sure whether he should go in and show his hand or wait and see if anything happens. He decides to give it half an hour and then go in if Kathy hasn’t come out. He leans back against a low brick wall and lights a Marlboro. He’s half way through his second smoke when Kathy comes out. Something about the way she’s holding herself pings his radar – that and the fact that she’s added dark sunglasses to her outfit of hoodie and loose hair. He drops his cigarette on the sidewalk, stands on it and then follows Kathy from a distance.

Fifteen minutes later she goes into a Gas’n’sip. Jensen gives her a couple of minutes and then goes in behind her.

He finds Kathy at the back of the store, behind a shelf, one hand in the front pocket of her hoodie. He moves up behind her slowly and quietly. She takes a deep breath and then heads for the register, pulling a gun out of her hoodie pocket.

Jensen reaches out and grips her hand, twisting the gun away, and shoving it into the back of his jeans.

“Get your hands off me!” Kathy screeches, batting at him with her fists.

The guy behind the register steps forward, gets a good look at Jensen’s cut and backs off.

“Not like this,” Jensen says. “You need money, you talk to me and Jared.”

He wrestles her out onto the street and then lets her shrug him off. She’s scowling down at the ground, but at least she isn’t running.

“How much do you need?’ Jensen asks.

Kathy won’t look at him. “Two large.”

Jensen nods. “For Randy, right? For the five grand he owes to Tommy Salinger.”

That gets her attention. “How did…” she cuts herself off.

“Kathy,” he pauses. “You know who we are. Tommy Salinger is Italian mob. What’s left of the Italian mob in California only operates because we allow it. So yeah, we know about Randy.”

“Look,” Kathy hisses. “Randy’s in a hole because of us kids. No one else gave a damn what happened to us, but he cared. He took us in. Fed us. Clothed us.”

“Got you to steal for him.”

“Yeah?” Kathy challenges. “Well if you own this town like you say, you probably got a fuckin’ cut, so don’t try to be all _moral high ground_ with me. Housing and clothing and feeding a bunch of kids costs money, it’s only fair we help out when Randy gets himself in a hole.”

Jensen shakes his head. “Randy’s in a hole because he gambles. Jared saw Tommy’s books when he went to have a word with him,” he licks his lips. “I get it, okay? I do. He was good to you when you needed it, but his help came with a price.”

Kathy snorts. “And what’s your price?”

“I want you to stay out of trouble.”

Kathy raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Why do you care?”

Jensen sighs. “Because you’re _family_ , Kathy. And we look after our own.”

For a brief moment, Jensen thinks Kathy’s going to cry, and he can handle finding her with a gun a lot better than he can handle her crying, so he’s relieved when she runs a hand across her face and manages to pull herself together.

They walk back to where Jensen parked the bike and he gives her his helmet, rides without one himself, and takes her back to the park.

Jared’s at the beer tent with the crew minus Alex and Jack and his eyes narrow when Jensen walks in with Kathy.

“Where’ve you been?” he asks, deceptively mild.

“I’ll tell you later,” he says and gives Kathy a look. “You stick with your mom, okay?”

Kathy nods and Jared’s brow furrows even further.

They’re saved further conversation by the overhead speakers loudly and excitedly announcing that Kane are about to play and the crew make their way over to the stage.

Chris and Steve are as good as always, blasting out their brand of southern country rock and getting the crowd singing and dancing. Kathy’s loving it and Alex and Jack don’t take long to turn up. Jensen couldn’t be happier, even if Jared’s giving him looks that say he’s not pleased.

Jared’s a lot happier when Jensen backs into him, wraps Jared’s arms around his middle and begins to grind against him in time to the music. 

It takes Jared a few moments to relax into it and a few more moments to stiffen up in a different way.

Jensen closes his eyes and tries not to think too hard about what Jared might do to him for tailing Kathy again. For disobeying orders. He doesn’t want to get too turned on in public, after all.

When Chris begins to lightly strum the opening riff of _American Made_ , Jensen opens his eyes and if he’s not mistaken, Chris is staring right at him from up on the stage.

“Got a good buddy out in the crowd tonight,” Chris says into the mic. “Give us a wave, Jensen,” he says and some fucker turns the spotlight on him.

“Give’ em a wave, Jen,” Jared murmurs in his ear.

Jensen waves faintly.

“Now my good buddy Jensen, he’s one hell of a pool player, some of you might know,” he looks down at someone in the front row and then laughs and points at him, “Yeah, here’s someone who’s lost to him a time or two. What you may not know, is that that son-of-a-gun, he’s one hell of a singer. So Jensen, come up here on stage and do this song with us. I know you know the words, you were there when I wrote it.”

Throughout all this he continues to play the opening riff of _American Made_ , on repeat.

“Go on, Jen,” Jared says. “Wanna hear you sing.”

“Fuck you,” Jensen says. “You’re in on this, aren’t you?”

Jared laughs, low and dark against the shell of his ear. “He came and asked my _permission_ earlier. While you were...wherever.”

Tailing Kathy. Without _permission_. Jensen doesn’t miss the implication.

“You don’t own me,” he says into the dark.

Jared’s hands dips into Jensen’s waist band and oh yeah, there’s a gun there—not a completely uncommon occurrence, but Jared knows he came to the charity event with only a knife in an ankle holster. Jared doesn’t move to touch the gun, though, doesn’t even mention it.

He says, “You got a tattoo right about here says I do.”

_Property of JP_ inked in the traditional tramp stamp position.

Jensen thinks that’s a moot point, though, because Jared has the same tattoo very close to his dick, that claims ownership for Jensen.

“C’mon, Jensen!” Chris calls, gesturing at him. “Get your ass up here!”

The hand slides down and begins squeezing Jensen’s ass cheek. “Yeah, Jensen. Get your fine ass up there. I wanna hear you sing. ”

The hand is abruptly withdrawn and Jared pushes Jensen forward.

“Go on.”

Jensen frowns at Jared, annoyed and slightly turned on. His boyfriend’s pupils are completely lust-blown, dark in a way that promises a long evening of Jensen begging for mercy.

He swallows. This is part of the lesson, he realizes. They’re already playing.

Jared confirms it a heartbeat later by telling him that he knows what to say if he can’t do it.

Jensen wants to say you _could’ve asked me_ , but that’s the point and he gets it.

“Fine.”

Jensen takes off his cut and hands it to Jared and then he turns and makes his way through the cheering crowd and up onto the stage.

Chris is whooping with excitement and when Jensen calls him a _fucking asshole_ from behind gritted teeth, he simply throws his head back and laughs.

He hands Jensen a guitar and Jensen straps it on and joins Chris in playing the opening riff of American Made.

_“C'mon, ha ha ha, yeah”_ Chris sings

Jensen joins him in the first verse.

_Well down in Panama city_

_They perfected the art of the tan._

_And those Oklahoma girls_

_They sure know why they call it Heartland._

_Well up in Seattle, boy they'll have you prayin' for rain._

_And those Tempe, Arizona women'll have you beggin' for shade._

_And from that Valley girl talk to that Southern Belle drawl,_

_Oh my God,_

_Hey hey y'all!_

In the end, he does four numbers with them. _American Made_ , _Rattlesnake Smile_ , a cover of Nick Cave’s _Red Right Hand_ and, finally, a rousing rendition of the theme tune from _The Dukes of Hazzard_. 

Jared kisses the living daylights out of him when he gets down from the stage and then growls that they’re leaving _right the fuck now_.

Kathy looks worried so Jensen gives her a wink and a grin, which turns her expression from concern to disgusted understanding.

\--

Jared is on him the second they walk into the house. He pushes him up against the wall and thrusts his thigh in between Jensen’s spread legs, pressing up against his balls with hard, demanding pressure that’s just the right side of painful. His mouth descends like a viper strike and Jensen can do nothing but submit to the brutal kiss, which rides the knife edge between sex and violence. When Jared finally pulls back, Jensen is a mess of want and desperation and Jared’s smile is pure evil.

“Upstairs,” he says. “Get naked. I want you on your back in the middle of the bed, waiting for me.”

Jared doesn’t keep him waiting too long. Jensen figures he simply set the alarm, turned on the Do Not Disturb and checked in with security.

Fed the dogs.

Still, Jensen’s rock hard and aching by the time the door knob finally turns.

Jared crosses to the bed, still fully dressed, doesn’t even take off his boots or his cut, and Jensen’s stomach squirms at the feeling of vulnerability that gives him.

Jared stares down at him. “So you do know how to obey rules.”

Jensen licks at his lips. “Hang the rules. They’re more like guidelines anyway.”

Jared isn’t impressed that he’s quoting _Pirates of the Caribbean_. 

“Okay, yellow for a moment,” Jensen says. “I need to tell you what went down with Kathy.”

He recounts the events of the afternoon and the furrow in Jared’s brow gets deeper as he talks.

“Where’s the gun?” he asks.

Jensen tells him that he put it in his sock drawer.

Jared purses his lips. “I’ll deal with Kathy and Randy tomorrow. For now I’m gonna deal with you.”

Jensen widens his eyes and tries to look innocent.

“Don’t give me that look,” Jared says “You were supposed to okay it with me before you tailed Kathy again. And you weren’t supposed to nearly get tangled up in a felony robbery and spend the afternoon concealed-carrying a potentially hot gun.”

Those are some good points.

“So,” Jared drawls. “Color?”

“Green,” Jensen sighs, just a touch of resignation in his tone.

It gets him another one of those filthy evil grins.

Jared squats down and Jensen hears him pull something out from under the bed, presumably the mid-sized wooden pirate’s chest where they keep the toys.

Jensen hears the click of the padlock opening and then a rummaging sound and then Jared stands triumphantly, holding a black leather 5-snap cock ring with silver press studs.

Jared leans over Jensen. He lifts his cock and balls and snaps the cock ring on tightly. Jensen’s cock stands red and erect and Jared smirks and takes him in his mouth, sucking and tonguing until Jensen’s cock is throbbing with the need to come, but he can’t, not with the cock ring done up so tightly.

“Please,” he begs.

He knows it’s hopeless, but he can’t help himself.

Jared’s lips make an obscene plopping noise when he pulls off of Jensen’s cock.

He puts a hand behind his ear. “I’m sorry,” his says politely, “was that you asking permission for something?”

Jensen grits his teeth in a vain attempt to hold back his moans and whimpers. He fists the towel that he’d put down on top of the quilt cover and pumps his hips fruitlessly.

“Stay still,” Jared tells him.

Jensen stills. And then watches with trepidation when Jared returns to the toy chest, rummaging again before standing up holding a black silicon prostate massager.

Jensen watches as he drizzles Astroglide on it and then thunks his head back against the pillow when Jared begins to work it into him. It’s a weird shape, this particular prostate massager—almost looks like a piece of modern art with its bulbous head and J-curve—and it stimulates both his p-spot and his perineum perfectly.

It’s not long before his knuckles are white, so tight is his grip on the towel, and his hips are thrusting again, his feet planted firmly on the bed.

“Stay still,” Jared says again.

“Nngh,” Jensen replies.

Jared smirks and then turns on the vibrations. Jensen very nearly catapults off the bed. Fortunately, Jared is there to hold him down. Jensen thrashes mindlessly beneath him.

“Be still,” Jared says and takes hold of Jensen’s red leaking cock.

Like that’s going to help.

“ _Please_ ,” Jensen says desperately. “Gotta come.”

Jared begins to stroke him, slowly, sensuously; the massager is vibrating against his prostate; and Jensen is reduced to writhing and blaspheming, and then to abject begging.

“Do you want to ask my permission for something, Jensen?”

Oh god. His dick is _so_ swollen, his balls are _so_ full. He’s actually got tears in his eyes.

“Please can I come, Jared?”

Jared smiles, beatific. “There. Was that so hard?” he glances down at Jensen’s dick. “Well…I guess _that_ is pretty hard, isn’t it?” he flicks at Jensen’s dick with his fingers and Jensen can’t quite bite back his sob.

Jared turns off the prostate massager and pulls it out slowly.

Thank Christ, Jensen thinks, Jared’s finally gonna fuck him and oh God, he’s so ready, so…no…wait. What is Jared...why is he reaching into the goddamn toy chest again?

He comes up with a pinwheel and Jensen swallows, hard. He runs it up and down Jensen’s dick, slowly, and then across his bound balls, in a cycle that seems to go on forever. Jensen tries to pull away as pleasure/pain sparks along his sensitive, overwrought, nerve endings, eliciting more tears and bitten off moans.

Jared chuckles darkly. He puts the pinwheel away and pulls out the Japanese clover clamps.

Jensen groans.

The guy at The Stockroom described these particular clamps as ‘not for the fainthearted’ and Jensen agrees. They’ve got a really firm grip, they stay in place through a fair amount of rigorous activity, and the tension is intense enough that you never forget they’re there.

Jared pinches one of Jensen’s nipples a few times and then clamps it.

Jensen hisses.

Jared does the same thing to his other nipple.

And then he tells Jensen to get on his hands and knees and move to the edge of the bed.

The steel chain linking his clamped nipples swings when he moves and the intense pull brings fresh tears to Jensen’s eyes. 

His whole body’s a livewire of exposed nerve, buzzing and sparking, as he gets into position and waits, as still as possible.

Jared pets his ass gently and then unzips, pulls out his dick, gives it a quick coat of Astroglide and shoves it unceremoniously into Jensen’s ass.

Jensen lurches forward as he’s breached and the chain swings, pulling hard on his nipples. His nerves are on fire and he doesn’t know what hurts the most; his ass, which was in no way stretched enough to take Jared’s monster cock without feeling like it was being split in two, his nipples, which are burning with bright hot sparks of pain, or his poor swollen balls, which have been on the edge of emptying for so, so long.

Jared pounds him hard. The chain swings and the clamps bite. Jensen’s hands are clawed in front of him, gripping the towel like it’s a life line. He rests his forehead in between his hands and lets himself weep into the soft thick cotton, because it all hurts so good and he’s flying apart.

Jared grips his hips hard, anchoring him.

“I’m gonna take the cock ring off,” Jared says. “You don’t come until I give you permission. You understand?”

“Yeh,” Jensen manages.

“Color?”

“Gr’n”

“If you come without permission I’m gonna try out that new tawse on your ass.”

_Snap, snap, snap, snap._

The cock ring comes off and Jensen steels himself, fighting his orgasm back with every ounce of energy he has.

“Well done,” Jared praises.

Jensen’s high as a fucking kite right now, endorphins surging through his blood stream, as he floats, suspended above himself, separate from the agonising pleasure of denial, and sore nipples, and the pounding cock carving space for itself in his ass.

Jared puts a sweaty hand around Jensen’s cock and jacks him once, twice.

“Come,” he says.

And Jensen does. Jared chooses the moment of his orgasm to reach up and pull the clamps off and the noise that wrenches out of Jensen is somewhere between a roar and a sob. He manages to fold the towel over the wet spot before he collapses, insensate, and unable to do anything except endure Jared’s use of his body.

When Jared finally finishes, Jensen is sore and starting to come down a little from the high. Jared cleans him up and then makes him put on his fleece-lined velvet robe. Jensen sits in bed and watches Jared pack up the toys, wipe his dick with the towel and then throw the towel into the hamper in the ensuite. Jared undresses then and changes into the tee-shirt that he usually sleeps in.

“You okay?” he says, slipping into bed beside Jensen and cuddling him.

“Yeah. Feel like I just smoked a lot of weed.”

Jared snorts and shakes his head.

“Am I forgiven?” Jensen asks.

Jared’s eyes narrow. “Depends. Did you learn your lesson?”

Jensen rolls his eyes. “Remember to ask permission or you’ll make earning forgiveness painful?”

Jared regards him seriously for a moment. “Jen,” he says. “This is big. This money…it’s life changing. I need you to take a step back now. You think Kathy’s in trouble, you run it past me. _We’ll_ deal with it. Your club brothers. But not you. _You’re_ benched. Okay?”

No, it’s not okay. Jensen fucking hates being restricted like this. But Jared’s right. Getting their hands on this money…it’s big. So he’s just going to have to accept it.


	4. Chapter 4

Being benched sucks. The first week was…okay. Benny and Alex had just arrived. And Kathy. Jensen had enough going on to keep him engaged and occupied. Somewhat.

Now though? Jared has laid down the law and everyone is under strict instruction to keep Jensen out of the loop and Jensen is feeling left out and frustrated.

He and Jared went and spoke with Kathy this morning and Jared was all puppy eyes and sympathy with her, but he was adamant that Randy got himself into a mess on his own and he should get himself out of it without putting people like Kathy in harm’s way.

Kathy tried to argue that it was no big deal, because even if she’d gotten caught, she’s still under eighteen so it would just mean juvie.

Jared had laughed. “Oh sweetheart. First off, juvie ain’t no picnic. Second—armed robbery; Kathy…that’s a serious felony. At nearly eighteen they’re gonna try you as an adult for that.”

Kathy paled just a little, but stuck out her chin. “You sure? I’m a cute little blonde girl,” she widened her eyes, wibbled her bottom lip and let her eyes fill with tears. “If I sit in court and cry about how the mean nasty man made me do it, and I didn’t want to, but I was _so_ scared he’d hurt me if I didn’t, I’m pretty sure I’d just get a short stint in juvie.”

Jared’s face hardened. “It wasn’t a risk you needed to take. You’ve got a chance for a good life here. Take it.”

After that, Jared, Chad, Rollie and Rachel went out to lay down the law with Randy and once that was done, they were going to go and burn down a meth lab that someone from out of town set up in the heart of HellSpawn territory, without Jared’s permission.

And Jensen only knows about it because he was lurking and overhead Chad on the phone.

Jensen’s in the garage punching the shit out of a boxing bag, as if it had personally insulted him, because he never gets to have any fun anymore and it sucks.

The garage door is open so he hears the bike coming up the driveway. He’s surprised when it’s Benny, but he figures maybe Jared gave Security the okay to let him in without checking first. Or maybe they checked with Sam.

Benny’s got Alex on the back of the bike and she waves at Jensen, standing sweating in the doorway of the garage, and then heads into Sam’s place.

Benny stashes the helmets and comes across to Jensen, does the back-slapping handshake/hug combo with him, then steps back and takes a long hard look at him.

“You okay, brother?”

“Jared send you to babysit?”

Benny frowns. “Sam’s taking Alex and Kathy out for the evening. They’re meeting up with those dykes from last night—Bri and Kim—for dinner and a movie.”

Jensen’s eyes widen. “Really? Sam does know Kim’s a cop, right?”

Benny shrugs. “I think it came up last night, yeah,” he grins. “You and Jared missed a good night. Your buddies from Texas are awesome. Chris sure can drink.”

“Yeah, well,” Jensen runs a hand across the back of his neck. “Me and Jay had our own good night.”

“Huh,” Benny says. “Sex and violence, right?” he looks pointedly at the boxing bag. “Your top two coping mechanisms?”

“I’m just bored,” Jensen says.

And he is. But it’s more than that. Jensen’s an addict. And maybe once upon a time, coke was the vice that got him high, but lately, it’s been adrenaline. And sure, kinky sex works for him, but risk; danger; the knife-edge between life and death; that’s slowly become his drug of choice over the last eighteen months and…Benny’s right. He’s jonesing for a fix so badly right now.

Fuck.

“C’mon,” he says to Benny. “I’m gonna have a shower, you come inside and have a drink and then we’re going to Gok’s.”

\--

It’s been a few weeks since he last played at Gok’s and there’s a brief lull in conversation and then an uptick in murmuring when he walks in with Benny.

Steve Williams is over in the back corner watching a game and Jensen doesn’t miss the way the detective looks at him and Benny.

“I’ll introduce you to Steve,” Jensen says. “And a heads up, he’s a cop too.”

Benny whistles low. “For outlaws, you and Jay have too many cop friends. Or are they on your payroll?”

Jensen shakes his head. “Steve, Kim, they’re stand up cops, but they get that things ain’t always black and white. Still; don’t incriminate yourself in front of either of ‘em.”

Steve shakes Jensen’s hand and then asks if Benny’s his new boyfriend. He sounds kind of hopeful, like maybe Jensen’s come to his senses and stopped dating a criminal.

Steve likes Jensen, so he’s still kind of deluding himself that Jensen isn’t a bad guy.

“This is Benny,” Jensen elects not to give Steve the nomad’s real name. “He’s a fellow motorcycle enthusiast, visiting from interstate.”

“Benny,” Steve’s eyes harden as he shakes his hand.

They get a table and Steve and Benny take turns playing Jensen—because he doesn’t lose a single game and winner stays on while loser rotates. After the fourth game, they free up the table for someone else and get themselves a booth and a round of drinks in the bar area.

Steve’s been giving Jensen speculative looks all night and Jensen figures if he’s got something to ask—or something to say—now will be the time.

“So Jensen,” he says finally. “A week ago, the Gang Task Force was contacted by an attorney from _Wachtell, Lipton, Rosen and Katz_. Seems a client of theirs is… _concerned_ …that a, uh, _gangster_ like you hasn’t been convicted of a felony yet. The client even made a _donation_ to the task force to ‘help resource our efforts to apprehend you’ and offered another one of the same amount if you’re charged with a felony before March 1st next year. Which I happen to know is your birthday.”

Jensen snorts into his whiskey, his lips twisting into a grim smile.

“Their client is my dad,” he says. And explains about the oil shares and the money.

Benny had picked up a bit on the subject from general conversation, but he hadn’t known just exactly how much money was involved and Jensen can tell he’s shocked.

“With that kind of money, you could all retire,” Steve says.

Jensen swirls his whiskey around in the glass. “We could,” he acknowledged, “but then who’d keep all the criminals in LA in line?”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “The police?”

Jensen laughs. “Yeah. Right. Cops are great at trampling all over poor people and minorities; keepin’ ‘em in their place. When it comes to organized crime, you’re either out of your depth or bought off. You need someone like us in place, keeping everyone in line, coz we can do things that you can’t.”

“Was that a confession?” Steve says sharply.

Jensen takes another sip of his whiskey; relishes the burn. “You ever heard of the Little Blue Heron?”

Steve frowns. “What’s that? A club? A street name for a new drug? Someone’s gang name?”

Jensen stares at him. “It’s a bird, Steve.”

“Oh. Right. Go on.”

So Jensen tells him the tale, no names mentioned, about an oil baron who orchestrated a murder, in the interests of big business.

“Just because the product is legal,” Jensen tells him, “doesn’t mean the business methods are. And guaranteed, anyone who’s making the kind of green they are, they believe they’re above the law. They believe the police, the judiciary, the politicians, are there for them to use for their own gain. They’re the worst type of organized crime we have and they don’t just have a few bent cops in their pocket, they have the chief of police, the state governor, and a quarter of the federal senate in their pocket. You really wanna change the criminal landscape in this country? Go after people like _Wachtell, Lipton, Rosen and Katz’s_ client.”

\--

It’s not like Jensen didn’t know his father was capable of pulling something like this. In fact, he’d been expecting it. It still fucking pisses him off, though, that his old man is guilty of bribery, assault and murder— _at the very least_ —and not only gets away with it, but has even convinced himself he’s not a criminal, because he’s got an obscene amount of money and therefore the law doesn’t apply to him.

Since they got back from Gok’s, Jensen has chain-smoked a pack of Marlboros and drunk a third of a bottle of Jim Beam and all it’s achieved is to turn his simmering anger into raging fury.

He keeps trying to pick a fight with Benny, but the nomad is too fucking _Zen_ to fall for that, so Jensen ends up back out in the garage with the boxing bag.

Six Harleys coming up the driveway rumble loudly, but Jensen doesn’t let it distract him from his mission to beat the boxing bag into submission. Jared pauses when he spots Jensen in the garage, but goes into the house with the rest of the crew.

They’ve probably gotta talk about whatever shit went down with Randy. Without him there. Because he can’t be involved right now.

Jensen punches the bag harder. Then he takes the gloves off and punches it with his bare hands until his knuckles start to bleed.

Jensen frowns down at them and lifts a hand, licks the blood off. When he looks up, Jared’s standing in the doorway that leads into the house, with a stony expression on his face.

When Jensen catches his eye he sighs and comes over, taking Jensen’s hand in his and kissing his bleeding knuckles briefly.

“What are you doing to yourself, you psycho?” he says fondly.

Jensen scowls. “Fuck you.”

Jared raises an eyebrow. “Benny told us what your detective buddy said down at Gok’s.”

Jensen nods. “Yeah. Well. Not unexpected. My father’s always been a _fucking asshole_.”

On the word _asshole_ he whirls and punches the boxing bag so hard that it rips off the chain anchoring it to the ceiling. 

“Dude!” Jared sounds half impressed, half pissed.

“I’ll fix it,” Jensen says, annoyed.

Jared snorts and goes back into the house.

That night, Jared puts him on his back, with his spread legs pulled over his shoulders and tied to the bedhead behind him. He uses the flogger without remorse, on his nipples, his belly, his ass. He makes sure to catch Jensen’s balls and the very center of his asshole with the whip’s tails and Jensen screams himself hoarse.

When he’s reduced Jensen to a sobbing wreck, Jared opens him up and fucks him slowly, staring right into his eyes the whole time. It fucking hurts, despite how gentle Jared’s being, because the sensitive little rosebud that is currently stretched taut around Jared’s giant dick was whipped raw, and Jensen’s orgasm rips out of him in agonizing pulses that leave him sobbing and sated, and the helpless anger that’s been choking him all day is somehow lesser, pulled from him like splinters dug out with a needle.

\--

Jensen throws himself into his work over the next few days and he gets a new tattoo, because it’s been too long since he last got one, and getting inked is always a good high. He designs it himself; a roll of hundred dollar bills being grasped by a hand dripping red with blood.

He also has an interesting conversation with Charlie. She comes to him when he’s home alone one night—because there’s some Club business of the type he can’t get involved in going on.

He’s on his third glass of bourbon and his second pack of cigarettes, watching some new British show about gangsters, when Charlie clears her throat from where she’s hovering in the doorway.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

She nods. “Just. Wanted to run something by you, Boss.”

“Jensen,” he corrects.

“Right,” she shuffles nervously.

Jensen tells her to come in and sit down.

“So Alex came to see me,” she says. “Benny’s girl? She was exploring the compound with Kathy last week and she saw all my Harry Potter minis in the window of the Security Pavilion. Anyway, we got talking. She was…kind of interested in what I do. She may have…flirted a little. I may have told her more about myself than I should have,” Charlie ducks her head and looks sheepish. “But, uh, she came back by herself a couple days later and told me she’s really scared that her Momma and her brothers are going to come and ‘rescue’ her. Benny keeps telling her she’s safe here with us, but, well, I guess she doesn’t believe him. She asked me if I could put some kind of tracker on her, and if she goes missing, could I make sure we look for her?”

“Shit,” Jensen says. “Poor kid. So did you?”

Charlie smiles. “Yeah. First I installed an app on her phone and then, when she was worried that they might throw her phone out if they snatch her, I came up with this.”

Charlie holds up what appears to be a leather friendship bracelet with glass and metal beads on it.

“Huh,” Jensen says. “You put a tracking chip in one of the beads?”

Charlie beams. “Yep.”

Jensen tells her how very cool that is and asks her when she’s giving it to Alex.

“I already gave Alex hers. I made this one for Kathy. I had to tell Tahmoh what I was doing for Alex, because he’s my boss, and he told Jared and Jared asked me to put a tracking app on Kathy’s phone too, which I did,” her eyes dart about in a way that makes her look really shifty and Jensen can’t help laughing.

“It’s okay,” he says.

“What is?” she’s biting her bottom lip and looking really guilty.

“Jared ‘accidentally’ took my phone to work with him yesterday. Doesn’t take a genius to figure out he had you put the tracking app on it.”

Charlie looks up at him from beneath her bangs. “You’re not pissed?”

Jensen shakes his head. “I got kidnapped once before, Charlie. I get why he wants to be able to track me.”

Charlie’s eyes are large and she’s still biting at her lip. “So, uh, would you give this to Kathy? I can’t think of any way to make her take it off me. She didn’t ask for it and we’re not friends.”

Jensen thinks it over and decides that the truth is probably going to work best with Kathy, so he goes over to Sam’s place and hands Kathy the friendship bracelet, telling her that Jared’s been on edge ever since his meeting with Randy and he doesn’t know why, but if Jared wants to be able to find her, it’s just because he’s worried about her, so she should just take the bracelet.

Kathy cautiously agrees, pointing out that if she wants to go somewhere untracked, she can just take the bracelet off, so it’s no big deal.

Jared gets home really late that night and he’s stressed and he’s worried, and he can’t sleep, and he won’t tell Jensen what’s going on. So Jensen picks a fight with him about the tracking app on his phone, even though he’s not mad about it, and the sex that follows is so rough that Jared actually freaks out afterwards and Jensen has to cuddle him and feed him chocolate until he calms down and goes to sleep.

So mission accomplished.

Jensen snorts softly and eases himself off of his very sore ass and ponders for a while on the way he and Jared fit together, like two pieces of a dysfunctional jigsaw puzzle. They’re pretty fucked up, but they make it work for them.

The next morning Jared wakes him up with a blowjob, which is nice.

“Thank you,” Jared says, when he’s finished swallowing.

Jensen raises an eyebrow. “I think that should be my line.”

Jared shakes his head. “For last night. I know you would’ve safeworded if it was too much for you,” he chuckles darkly. “But, uh, it was pretty intense. So thank you for knowing what I needed to deal with the stress and for looking after me when I dropped.”

Jensen kisses him lightly. “You’ve been talking to Tahmoh again, haven’t you?”

Jared ducks his head and then nods. “I know we’re not the same as him and Osric, we’re just a couple of kinky guys, and we’re not big into labelling it and being formal or whatever, but, well, we kinda _are_ the same, just in our own way. Sometimes having the right words can help you understand what’s going on.”

Jensen wrinkles his nose. “I guess. I’d still rather do it than talk about it though.”

He moves to sit up and hisses at how sore his ass still feels.

Jared is instantly attentive and Jensen manfully tolerates Jared cleaning him up with warm soapy water and putting some anointment that Tahmoh recommended up his ass.

The upside, is that Jared actually answers some of his questions, in a roundabout sort of way, and Jensen learns that someone’s been making waves; making HellSpawn earn their protection money and generally ruffling feathers. Jared hasn’t gotten to the bottom of it yet, but he suspects the Italians are behind it. He just doesn’t have any proof that it’s an _organized_ effort.

Jensen wants to help so badly that he can practically taste his desperation, but he bites his tongue to keep himself from offering, because he knows what Jared’s answer will be.

So he showers and has breakfast and goes to work and tries not to let it boil his blood when Chad comes rushing in and has a hushed conversation with Jared and then the two of them and Rollie and Yellow Eyes disappear.

Jensen watches the bikes rumble out of J2 Motorcycles and then he adjusts his facemask and gets back to his spray painting.

Jared’s late home again that night, but he does a better job of pretending he’s not angry and worried. They don’t scene; hell they don’t even fuck—they’re both too tired, but even so it takes them a while to fall asleep.

Jensen’s woken up a little before 3.00am by Jared’s cell phone ringing. He elbows his boyfriend in the ribs.

“Gonna get that,” he slurs, sleep heavy.

“What?” Jared grits into the phone.

A moment later he’s swearing and stumbling out of bed, trying to dress one handed, while he barks questions into the phone.

“What the fuck?” Jensen sits up, fumbles for the light.

Jared snaps his phone shut and throws it on the bed. “That was Mick from Security. The cameras went down at the J2 showroom and office building. And at the Club building. And then the silent alarm at the Club was tripped. They can’t get either Rollie or the Prospect on their phones, so I’m going down there.”

Jensen climbs out of bed. “I’m coming too.”

Jared’s already shaking his head. “No. If this is an attack on the headquarters of HellSpawn…it’s gonna get messy. You gotta sit this one out.”

“Bullshit,” Jensen squares his shoulders and meets Jared’s eyes, determined. “I’m your sergeant-at-arms. If this _is_ an attack on HellSpawn, then I’ve gotta be there.”

“I’m not gonna fight you on this,” Jared says.

“Good,” Jensen retorts, as he pulls on his jeans.

“But I will tie you down if I have to,” Jared adds.

Jensen’s glare has made lesser men piss themselves, but Jared is unmoved.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he genuinely sounds it, “but we can’t risk you.”

Before Jensen can retort, his cell phone rings. He flips open the cover and scrambles to answer when he sees the caller ID.

“Benny?”

There’s a breath that sounds suspiciously like a sob. “They’ve taken Alex,” the nomad says.

\--

They meet in the Security Pavilion. Jared. Jensen. Tahmoh. Mick. Charlie. Chad. Rachel. Freddie. And Benny, who arrives last and looks, finally, less like a Zen teddy bear and more like someone who used to be the sergeant-at-arms for HellSpawn’s Miami chapter.

Rollie and The Prospect are cleaning up down at the Club and Tahmoh sent Ketch down to re-set the cameras and the silent alarm.

“What happened?” Jared demands when Benny strides in, jaw set and eyes like coal.

“Momma and the boys. We need to get after her!”

Jared nods. “We will. Just…how many we dealin’ with? Was it just them? Did they have help?”

Benny tilts his head. “I just saw Momma and the boys. Four all up. Three boys and Momma,” he runs a hand across his face. “I heard somethin’, got up. But it was too late. They had her. Had a gun to her head. I couldn’t risk a shot.”

Jensen slaps him on the arm, tells him he did right.

“And Rollie? The Prospect?” Jared asks.

Benny’s eyes slide away. “Didn’t wake up,” he folds his arms. “Jacks sleeps with them white noise ear buds,” he shrugs. “Rollie…don’t sleep too good ‘less he’s medicated.”

Jared nods, his eyes like flint. He turns to Charlie.

“You got her tracked yet?”

Charlie nods. “Her cell phone’s still at the Club, but she’s still wearing the bracelet,” she turns her laptop to face Jared. Jensen leans over his shoulder. “They’re on the San Diego Freeway, just past Lake Forest.”

“Fuck!” Benny punches the nearest wall.

“They’re heading for the border,” Jensen says.

Jared nods. “Lucky for us, we ain’t cops. We don’t give a fuck about jurisdiction.”

He stares at the green dot on the tracking map and then clears his throat. “Charlie? Is there a way you can send this data to my phone?”

Charlie tilts her head, considers. “Yeah,” she says. “I can do that.”

Jared smiles approvingly. “Okay. Benny, Chad, Freddie, Rachel, you’re coming with me. Jensen, you gotta sit this out.”

Before Jensen can protest, Jared’s guiding him outside. “I know,” Jared says. “I know it fucking sucks, but we can’t risk you. Besides, I need you and the McLeods to keep an eye on things here while we’re gone,” he quirks a smile. “Queen’s gotta guard the castle.”

Jensen punches him. Hard. But not on the face. “Screw you,” he says. But he doesn’t argue.

Jared backs him against the outside wall and kisses him brutally. Jensen’s bottom lip is dripping blood when Jared pulls back. “Call Rowena,” Jared says.

Jensen nods. “Bring her back, Jay. And don’t get dead.”

\--

Jensen sits with Charlie and watches the green dot move further down the San Diego Freeway while Jared and the crew get kitted up and head out. He tries not to sulk.

It’s five am but Jensen knows he’s never getting back to sleep now, so he makes himself bacon and eggs and a strong pot of coffee and once he’s finished with that he showers and dresses and then calls Rowena, gives her the 411 on everything that’s happened. She says that she and Mark will be down as soon as they can and he tells her not to hurry, he’s planning on heading down to the Club, to check in with Rollie and The Prospect anyway.

Jack is gutted, can’t seem to stop smacking himself in the head. Jensen spends some time with him, settling him down, reassuring him. 

Rollie is hungover and looks it. He shakes his head. “I fucked up,” he tells Jensen morosely.

“Jared’s pissed,” Jensen says. “You need to sort out your shit. If you’re sleeping here, you’re meant to be up to defending the place if you need to.”

Rollie nods and apologizes.

Ketch has all the security systems back on line and is doing something clever with the cameras that makes Jensen’s eyes glaze over when he explains. He’s sure it’s all very high tech, but it still won’t stop someone spray painting the cameras’ lenses with black paint.

Finally, he heads into the dealership and workshop at the front of the premises and opens up.

He’s working on a design for a Harley Fat Boy when Danneel arrives. She’s shocked when he tells her what happened and Jensen reminds himself that she wasn’t with them in the early days, when Jared first took over. They’d taken down the Italians and the Russians, forged their alliance with the Yakuza, and the challenges had mostly stopped when he hired her to work at J2 after she tried to hustle him at pool and nearly won. Since then, the only real drama has been when he was kidnapped by the Bastard Sons, but they’d kept that one quiet—Club only—and he’d rescued himself pretty quickly anyway.

It’s barely ten am when Jensen’s cell phone rings. It’s Tahmoh, breathing hard, saying in between gun shots that the compound is under attack. There’s a lot of gunfire and shouting in the background and Jensen moves fast; phone in his jacket, keys off his desk; on his bike, and out of there at slightly over the speed limit.

He’s stopped at the Community Gate House by one of the security guards who tells him he can’t go in, due to an incident within the community.

“Yeah,” Jensen glowers. “At my fucking house. Let me in.”

The guard shakes his head. “Police and Ambulance are on route. You’ll need to wait for them to declare the area secure.”

Jensen’s eyes narrow and the guard begins to look uneasy. Jensen looks at his name badge.

“Tony Zanetti,” he muses.

The guard—Tony—pales.

“You wanna tell me, Tony, how a bunch of armed men got past you and into our supposedly protected community?”

Tony’s partner—Brad Thompson, according to his name badge—looks interested in the answer to that too.

“No one got in who didn’t have permission from a householder,” Tony says staunchly.

Jensen leans in close and Tony flinches. “Don’t think we won’t be checking. Now let me in.”

Tony refuses, though, and he’s backed up by Brad, who apologizes, but says he’ll have to wait for the police to okay it.

Jensen considers knocking them both out and letting himself in, but that would just be a stupid way to earn a felony conviction, so he lights a cigarette and waits.

The police eventually arrive, closely followed by a couple of ambulances. He’s made to wait while first the police, and then the ambulances, go in, and no one will tell him anything.

The coroner turns up and Jensen turns to Brad. “That’s my family in there,” he lets his anguish show in his tone. “Someone needs to tell me what _the fuck is happening_!”

“We don’t know any more than you do,” Brad says. “When they tell us, you’ll be the first to know.”

An unmarked car arrives and Jensen just about explodes with relief when he sees Kim Rhodes in the drivers’ seat.

“Detective Rhodes,” his says. “The fucking coroner’s here. People are dead. Will someone _please_ tell me what’s going on?”

Kim sighs and then nods at the back seat. “Get in. And don’t make me regret this.”

\--

The compound’s a mess. Toppled pot plants, with soil spilling out. The grotto has been blasted into fragments of stone and plaster, which are floating in the water, there’s glass everywhere, and there are body-shaped shrouds on the ground. Five in total.

Jensen swallows. Notes the white van on the far side of the circular driveway: Sabatini & Sons: House Painters and Decorators. An ambulance pulls away, lights and sirens, as Kim’s car slows beside the remaining bus. Tahmoh is sitting on its tailgate, upper arm wrapped in a bandage, and Jensen’s out the car before it’s completely stopped.

“Tahmoh,” he breathes, clasping the man’s hand. “Tell me.”

“Italians,” Tahmoh says under his breath.

Jensen harrumphs. “That can wait,” he says. “Did we lose anyone?”

Tahmoh looks away briefly and then meets Jensen’s eyes and nods. “Mick took a bullet to the neck. Bled out,” he swallows. “Osric,” his voice breaks.

Jensen’s heart takes a swan dive. “Fuck. I’m sorry.”

“No,” Tahmoh shakes his head. “He’s not… He was in the ambulance that just left. He got showered with glass, got some in his eyes. He was protecting Charlie. When the Security Pavilion’s window went he threw himself over her.”

Jensen feels Kim and her partner come up beside him, but neither of them speaks.

He puts a hand to Tahmoh’s shoulder, a brief offer of comfort. “Ric’s a good man.”

“Yeah,” Tahmoh smiles fleetingly and then clears his throat. “Sam was in the same ambulance. I don’t know what happened. She and Kathy were in Sam’s place with Mark and Rowena. I know a couple of the…intruders went in, but we were under pretty heavy gunfire out here. We couldn’t get to them.”

“It’s okay,” Jensen reassures him. “You did good.”

Tahmoh just shakes his head.

“Mr Penikett,” Kim steps forward. “I’m Detective Rhodes, lead detective on this case. I’d like you to go over the events of the day with me and I’d like to see your surveillance footage too, please?”

Tahmoh looks to Jensen and when he nods, Tahmoh agrees to show her what the surveillance cameras recorded and to walk her through what happened.

“I’m gonna check on Kathy,” Jensen tells Kim.

She looks at him sharply. “This is a crime scene, Jensen.”

Jensen scowls. “It’s my home. And I need to see my family, make sure they’re okay.”

Kim purses her lips. “Shaw?” she says to her partner. “Go with him please.”

She fixes Jensen with a stony expression. “You. Behave.”

Jensen rolls his eyes. “Yes ma’am. C’mon Shaw.”

The man scowls. “That’s Detective Madson to you, son.”

There’s another covered body outside Sam’s front door, which is wide open, and her front window is blown out. Mark and Rowena are sitting on Sam’s sofa talking to a couple of uniforms; Mark has a sling on his arm. The coffee table is upside down and there are magazines and coasters strewn across the floor. Conversation halts when Jensen and Detective Madson walk in.

“This is the home owner,” Detective Madson says gruffly.

“Jensen,” Ruthie gets to her feet, her face is almost comically tragic.

She comes and hugs him hard and then she tells him.

“They took Kathy.”

\--

Charlie’s nervous under the watchful eye of Kim and Detective Douchebag, Jensen can tell.

“So, uh, basically, it’s just a simple GPS tracking program, an app I wrote myself, and uh, I made a bracelet and it’s got a mini Bluetooth tracker disguised as a bead on it. So, uh, should I?” she turns to Jensen and nods at her laptop.

“Show the Detectives,” Jensen says.

Charlie opens the app, clicks on Kathy’s name and it shows the same map screen and green dot that Jensen saw when they were looking to see where Alex was at.

“Okay,” Kim breathes. “We’ve got her,” she claps Charlie on the shoulder and Charlie flinches. “Good work, sister.”

Charlie’s smile is uncertain. She looks anything but pleased at being in a law enforcement spotlight. Jensen can relate.

“Jensen,” that law enforcement spotlight shines abruptly on him and when he meets Kim’s grim, determined expression he knows he’s not going to like what she says next.

“I know it goes against the grain, but you’re going to sit this one out. A kidnapping is a police matter. We’ll deal with this. You hear me?”

She’s right. It does go against the grain, but the police are already involved, there’s no way he can deal with this without them on his tail, so he may as well go along with it.

He nods, brusquely and gets an almost maternal smile in response.

“Charlie, can we take your laptop?”

“What?” Charlie squeaks. “No! No way. I mean, uh, I’ve got other stuff on here. Sensitive stuff. For other clients. And, no. Sorry.”

Kim blows out air, frustrated. “Well is there any way you can send the data to my phone?”

Charlie looks at Jensen who shakes his head minutely.

“No,” Charlie lies.

Kim frowns.

“How about Charlie stays on the phone with you while you do your thing?” Jensen suggests. “Lets you know if the dot moves. Would that be okay?”

Kim sighs. “We can make do with that.”

\--

After the police have left, Jensen watches the surveillance footage:

Everything is quiet; ordinary; and then a van—Sabatini & Sons House Painting and Decorating—rams through the front gates, the front-seat passenger is already shooting and Mick, who’s manning the gate, goes down in a spray of automatic gun fire. The white van is followed by a smaller black van—unmarked. Both vans stop just outside the security pavilion and Jensen counts ten masked men come surging out of the vehicles. They trade gunfire with Tahmoh and Ric and two of them go down, but four get past the Security Pavilion and head for the house.

Jensen switches camera feeds and watches as the four men exchange gun fire with the guest house; knows that Mark, at least would’ve been armed, maybe even Ruthie. Knows, too, that Sam doesn’t keep weapons in the house, because she’s on parole. One of the men goes down, but the other three manage to enter the house. A few moments later the three men come out again, dragging Kathy with them; she’s struggling like a wildcat, spitting and snarling, and lashing out with her fists and her feet. It takes two big men to hold her and she gets backhanded for her trouble, but Jensen can’t help feeling proud of her.

He switches camera feeds again and sees them bundle her into the black van, gather the remaining two attackers who are still alive, and leave. 

The whole attack took less than ten minutes.

Charlie’s rigid beside him and Jensen reminds himself that she might be happy to do illegal things from behind her keyboard, but violence is not her forte. Today was probably terrifying for her.

“You okay?” he asks.

Charlie’s eyes slide to his. “Yeah,” she says. Shakes her head. “I’m not used to feeling so helpless. Cracking code’s a different kind of battle, one I’m good at. And, I mean, I’ve taken some self-defense classes. But bullets flying about? All I can do is hide.”

Charlie’s monitoring the tracking app, Kim in her earpiece and her cell phone on mute for the moment, and Jensen sits with her for a while and lets her vent. He’s too restless to sit and wait for the cops to start their operation—they’re too slow, take way too long to gear up, get approval, so forth, so Jensen goes and starts cleaning up, just to give the adrenaline something to do. He starts with Sam’s place, which has been cleared by the Forensics Team, and then moves out into the grounds. Fortunately, save for some chipped brick thanks to ricocheting bullets, the main house is more-or-less untouched. They’re going to have to rebuild the grotto though.

He considers calling Jared, but decides against it. He wants Jared focused on his own mission, not distracted by thoughts of what’s going on back home.

What _is_ going on back home? He’d spoken to Mark briefly before he and Rowena had gone in that last ambulance with Tahmoh to get Mark’s broken arm set properly. Mark said he’d recognized a couple of their attackers as Italian mob when he was exchanging gun fire with them, confirming what Tahmoh had muttered when Jensen first spoke to him.

So. A van belonging to a company that _paints houses_ , Jensen snorts, with an Italian name on the side. Italian mob muscle. Jensen’s not liking the picture that’s emerging.

“Jensen!” Charlie calls him from the Security Pavilion. “They’re in! Come listen.”

He sprints across, but by the time he gets there he can already tell it’s not good news.

Charlie has Kim on speaker. “We found her bracelet,” Kim tells him. “But Kathy’s not here.”

Jensen can hear voices in the background.

“Who are you talking to?”

“Randy Novak. The home owner. He’s telling us that Kathy _was_ here, but she just came in to get a change of clothes. Says she was with friends. Could he be telling the truth?”

“No way.”

He’d seen how hard she’d been fighting them, no way she’d gone willingly. And they’d obviously stripped her of everything, clothing and jewelry, before they’d moved her on, just to be on the safe side.

Kim sighs. “Okay. We’ll take Randy down to the station then, see if a change of venue will jolt some answers out of him.”

Jensen snorts. “I seriously doubt it. I wouldn’t waste your time.”

Kim hums thoughtfully. “Think of it less as me getting answers out of Randy and more as me saving you from being tempted to try getting answers out of him.”

Jensen glances across at Charlie’s wide eyes, pulls a face and inclines his head, conceding Kim’s point. 

“Okay Detective Rhodes,” he says. “Keep me in the loop.”

He hits end call on Charlie’s phone and sits for a moment thinking.

“So that’s it?” Charlie says. Jensen thinks she looks disappointed. “You’re just gonna let the police handle it?”

“Hell, no,” Jensen says.

Charlie grins. “What next then?”

He looks at her thoughtfully. “How do you feel about hacking traffic cameras?”

If her wicked smile is anything to go by, Jensen would say that Charlie feels pretty good about it. 

\--

Even for someone with Charlie’s skills, getting what they need from the cameras is a slow process. They find the van that took her from the compound to Randy’s easily enough; they had a starting place and a time frame so that narrowed things down. And the same van took her _from_ Randy’s too. But after that, it’s like a game of huckle buckle beanstalk, with a lot of intersections coming up _cold_ before they finally find the _hot_ one with the right vehicle in the frame. Eventually though, they track the car to the driveway of a big house at the end of a cul-de-sac in the Hollywood Hills. A quick title search reveals that the house is owned by Thomas Salinger. Jensen’s grin is feral.

He stalks back to the house, with Charlie trotting at his heels.

“What are you gonna do?” she asks.

Jensen hits the gun safe and begins to tool up: Colt 1911. 9mm Beretta.

“Jensen, you can’t go there alone,” Charlie says, biting her bottom lip.

Bowie knife. Better make that two.

“Jensen!”

He looks at her. “I can’t _not_ go in there alone either, Charlie.”

“You need back up.”

“Yeah. Well everyone’s either dead, in hospital or half way to Mexico. There’s me, Charlie. It’s gotta be me.”

She shakes her head. “You’ve got hundreds of non-patched supporters that you could use as foot soldiers. Give this to one of them.”

“Salinger wants _our_ attention. This response needs to come from the top or we’ll look weak. Besides, this is Kathy. I wouldn’t trust this to a low ranking affiliate.”

Charlie won’t give up though. “At least get some back up.”

Jensen sighs and shakes his head. Truth be told, he wants to nip all this in the bud before their lower ranking people realize how serious it is. And it is serious. A full-frontal attack like this; a kidnapping; this is the Italians trying to take back the city. It’s gotta be.

“Let me find her first,” he says. “If I need back up, I’ll get you to call Kim.”

Because the police are questioning Randy, and who knows? He might have a pressure point that Jensen doesn’t know about. He might actually give up Salinger. Better to have at least kept Kim in the loop if it all goes south.

Charlie takes a deep breath. “Or I could come--”

“No,” he cuts her off.

Charlie pouts. “What? You don’t think I’m capable?”

Jensen raises an eyebrow. “Not of killing someone, no. And it might come to that. I think you’re smart as hell and morally flexible, but taking a life?”

He pulls her in for a one armed hug and kisses the top of her head. “I don’t want that for you.”

“Jared,” she begins, but he hushes her.

“You let me worry about Jared.”

\--

It’s impossible to approach a house at the end of a cul-de-sac discreetly on a Harley, so Jensen doesn’t even try. Salinger’s house backs onto several acres of scrubland, so Jensen does a lap of the block and then goes off road, coming in from the rear.

He scales the fence and drops lightly into a backyard that’s densely planted with fruit trees.

He draws the colt and makes his way cautiously up to the house. The back door is unlocked.

Jensen’s appalled by the lax security, but then again, Tommy Salinger is only a loan shark; scary to small-time bit players like Randy Novak, but not someone who would usually be worthy of attention from a player of Jensen’s standing in the criminal underworld.

Still, he’s disappointed that the only security he comes across is a couple of badly dressed goons wearing shoulder holsters, sitting at the kitchen table playing cards. They’re completely focused on their game and don’t even notice Jensen creeping past. Frankly, shooting them would be a waste of good bullets, so Jensen doesn’t.

He clears the downstairs area and then makes his way upstairs. He’s halfway up when he hears Kathy shouting.

“You stay away from me you asswipe, I swear to God I’ll fucking kill you!”

Jensen takes the remaining stairs two at a time and follows the shouting.

“Fucking bitch,” he hears Salinger snarl.

There’s a _whack_! Skin against skin and then Kathy starts screaming, terror, anguish and outright panic in her tone.

“No! No! Stop it!”

And Jensen’s heard enough. The door’s locked, so Jensen kicks it open and the look of surprised shock on Salinger’s face is truly gratifying.

“Kosta! Get up here!” Salinger yells.

The moment of distraction is all Kathy needs to punch him squarely in the balls. Salinger falls to his knees, his face pinched and white and Jensen takes the opportunity to pistol whip him.

Then he grabs Kathy’s hand and pulls her from the room. Her nose is bleeding, her hair is a tangled mess and her top is ripped, but her smile is triumphant.

They’re out on the landing when a guy with a gun comes charging up the stairs. Jensen practically throws Kathy against the wall as he raises his gun arm and shoots. The guy teeters on the top stair for a moment and then falls, tumbling down in a cartwheel of arms and legs. Jensen moves cautiously forward and peers down. Wide vacant eyes stare sightlessly up from halfway down the staircase and then he’s slamming himself back against the wall, because someone’s shooting at him. 

“Mickey!” he hears someone saying, panicked. “We’re under attack! Get inside!”

Jensen edges forward again and peeks over the railing. Downstairs, a hand holding a gun comes around the corner and starts firing. Jensen pulls back.

“Fuck!” he mutters. “We’re trapped up here.”

He takes his cell phone out and texts Charlie a 911.

Kathy huffs. She rips her top wider open, exposing her breasts, undoes her jeans, smears the blood from her nose across her face and then blinks until tears start to fall from her eyes.

“Back me up,” she says and then moves into the line of fire.

“Help,” she whimpers. “Oh god, somebody help me. The bad man hurt Tommy,” she staggers toward the stairs, sobbing. “Please!”

The goon comes around the corner, gun wavering uncertainly. His eyes keep floating back to Kathy’s tits.

“Thank god!” Kathy blubbers. “You’re one of ours! You have to help me.”

The man peers up the stairs behind her and Kathy throws herself to the ground. Jensen comes around the corner and fires and the guy drops

“Nice play,” Jensen says approvingly and Kathy grins. Her teeth are bloody.

They’re making their way through the entry hall to the front door when it bursts open. The armed muscle is surprised into a moment’s stillness and it’s all the opening Jensen needs to shoot him.

Kathy screams and Jensen turns just as Salinger grabs her and puts a gun to her head.

“Put the gun down,” he tells Jensen.

“Give it up, Tommy,” Jensen says. “I’ve got HellSpawn supporters waiting outside. You’ve lost, but you don’t have to die.”

Salinger sneers. “ _You’ve_ lost, but you don’t even know it yet. Parise’s gonna take your little biker gang to pieces.”

Jensen frowns. “Parise? _Vincent_ Parise?” Jensen edges a little closer as he talks. “Last time I saw him he was running from Joey Marcuzzi’s exploding restaurant, with a trail of piss behind him. I heard he was hiding in New York.”

“He’s back.”

Jensen raises an eyebrow.

“His wife’s a Marcuzzi,” Salinger offers.

“Really?” Jensen says, like they’re just a couple of guys exchanging company gossip during a cigarette break. “So…what? The Family sent him back to reclaim California?”

“Stop!” Salinger finally cottons on to the fact that Jensen’s edging closer, but he can’t move further away because his back’s to a wall.

“Hmm,” Jensen says thoughtfully. “So you were just following Parise’s orders, taking the girl.”

“What? No. I’m not his lackey, more like…a business partner. He wanted to distract HellSpawn; I wanted to teach that little fucker Randy Novak a lesson. So I provided Parise with some extra muscle for something and his people brought me Kathy.”

Jensen tilts his head. The attack was a _distraction_? So what about Alex’s abduction? Was that orchestrated by Parise too?

“Distract us from what?” Jensen asks, risking another step forward.

“Enough!” Salinger says. “Now put the fucking gun down or I’ll shoot this little bitch in the head, I swear to God.”

Kathy sags in his hold and starts to cry. “Please don’t hurt me, please don’t!”

And then she throws her head back, smack into his face, breaking his nose with a resounding crack.

Salinger falters, but Kathy’s still too close to risk shooting, so Jensen barrels into him, shoving Kathy out the way, getting her clear, and grabbing Salinger’s gun arm, pushing it against the wall and then twisting his own gun, trapped between their bodies, and shooting Salinger in the gut. Salinger screams and Jensen smashes his gun hand against the wall, making him drop the gun, which he kicks away. Only then does he stand back and let Salinger slide to the floor, where he sits with his hands clasping his bloody stomach, sweating, panting, and glassy eyed, and then, mercifully, still.

“God Damnit, Jensen,” he hears and Jensen spins abruptly to find Kim, Detective Douche, and a bunch of uniforms watching him from the front door, weapons drawn.

“It was self-defence,” he says as he very carefully lays down his gun and puts his hands up. “You saw, right?”

Kim nods. “Salinger, sure. But I can see four bodies just from here,” her expression is pained. “I gotta take you in, Jensen.”

Jensen sighs. He’d already figured that part for himself.

Kim gets the cuffs out and Jensen dutifully turns around and puts his hands behind his back.

“Jensen Ackles,” she says. “I’m arresting you on suspicion of murder. You have the right to remain silent…” 


	5. Epilogue

The good thing about the Hollywood Area City Jail is that everyone gets a private cell.

The cells are about 6ftx9ft in area and the sides and back are pale green drywall over solid brick. The front is steel bars. So the cells may be private, but they’re not _private_. 

At least the cells are only located on one side of the corridor, so it’s not like Jensen has people staring at him from the cells opposite or anything, but he’s on full view at all times to anyone who walks past.

In terms of furnishings, Jensen has a canvas cot fixed to the right side wall and a stainless steel sink and toilet bowl combo attached to the back wall. Jensen is not looking forward to having to use that; for the aforementioned lack of privacy reasons.

Jensen’s sitting on his cot, back against the wall, legs bent, elbows resting on his knees, when a guard stops in front of his door.

“Ackles,” he says. “Your attorney’s here.”

He raps on the door slot with his night stick and Jensen gets to his feet with a sigh and goes across to the door, obediently posting his hands through the slot to be cuffed.

JP’s waiting for him in one of the private interview rooms and the guard doesn’t take Jensen’s cuffs off until JP very pointedly tells him to.

Jensen resists the temptation to rub his wrists and sits down opposite JP with a wide smile.

The guard leaves.

JP gives him a clinical once over.

“Aw man,” Jensen says. “Please don’t tell me orange ain’t my color?”

JPs bottom lip quirks. “I got here as soon as I could,” he says.

They only finished processing Jensen an hour ago, so that was pretty damn quick. Jensen tells him as much and thanks him for his professionalism and he gets an honest-to-God smile this time.

“You’re going to be arraigned on Monday,” JP tells him. Today is Thursday.

“And you’ll get bail because you have no priors, you’re a small business owner with ties to the community, you’re from a wealthy family and you have friends in law enforcement who have spoken up on your behalf. Also, it’s a clear case of self-defense and really _should_ be dismissed at the pre-trial hearing,” JP sighs. “But given that four men are dead and you weren’t in your home, but the home of one of the victims, the judge will want it to go to a jury trial. Which we will win.”

Jensen bites at his bottom lip. “Have you spoken to Jared? Did they get Alex?”

JP nods. “He’s going to visit you in the morning. And yes, they rescued Alex. She’s fine. It seems that both Momma and the boys and the Italian mob were staking out the Club rooms and they agreed to work together because their interests overlapped,” JP lowers his voice. “Jared also tells me that at the same time you were confronting Salinger, Parise’s men, with support from the leftover dregs of Italian muscle here in town, were raiding a HellSpawn warehouse. They thought it had just received a delivery of illegally imported AK-47s. In actual fact, it had just received a perfectly legal delivery of Russian vodka. And was being guarded by the Yakuza. There was an altercation,” JP smiles, all teeth. “The local police have had a busy day.”

“Fuck,” Jensen runs a hand across his jaw. “Are we okay?”

JP shrugs. “We’re at war with the Italians. But the Yakuza are on our side. You just sit tight Jensen, we’ll get you back on active duty in no time.”

\--

Jensen doesn’t get a private room for his visit with Jared, which is a damn shame. They aren’t even allowed to touch in the public visitation room, which Jensen can tell Jared is really pissed about.

“You okay?” Jared asks, eyes raking over Jensen searchingly.

“Fine. Bored. You?”

Jared breathes out heavily. “Busy.”

“I hear there’s a lot going on,” Jensen says.

Jared’s eyes are sharp. “There’s been a lot going on for a few weeks now. I’ve been trying to keep you out of it; out of trouble,” he looks around with slow deliberation. “That went well.”

“Sorry,” Jensen says.

Jared grins, finally. “No you ain’t,” his grin fades. “Kathy says hi, by the way. She’s doing okay.”

Jensen’s lips curve. “She was awesome, Jay.”

Jared reaches out to cover Jensen’s hand with his own, and then remembers that he can’t touch and retracts it.

He sighs. “We’ve been asking questions,” he tells Jensen. “Seems there’s been some private investigator nosing around, claims to work for some big fancy law firm, and he’s been meeting with various parties; parties who’ve been…deferring to us in matters of business for the past year. And this PI, he’s been spreading money around, encouraging… _retribution_ for past losses. And let’s face it, some of those parties, their cooperation’s been… _reluctant_. It didn’t take much to sow the seeds of rebellion. ”

“Son of a bitch,” Jensen says. “God, my old man’s a fucking asshole,” he pauses. “I figured something else out too,” Jensen licks at his lips. Draws a deep breath. “He’s not just trying to hold onto his money and get me a long prison sentence. That would’ve been bad enough. But he’s trying to split us up too.”

Jared’s brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

“If he just wanted to keep my shares, he could’ve offered to buy me out quietly. Could’ve forgotten to remind me about the felony clause. Hell, he could’ve just pulled some clever legal move and transferred them to himself, waited for me to take him to court over it, knowing I probably wouldn’t be able to afford it. He wanted to dangle the money in front of _you_ , then take it away from you. He wanted you to blame me for it. To be pissed at me.”

Jensen huffs out a humorless laugh. Jared’s head is inclined and he’s watching Jensen closely; listening intently.

“This was never about the money for him,” Jensen says, “not really. He doesn’t believe that gay relationships are…real love. In his mind, you’re a disgusting low life criminal who likes using and degrading his son for your own sexual gratification. And he thinks me losing you billions will make you dump me. He’s trying to fuck up my entire life; force me to come crawling back to Texas with nothing when I get outta prison.”

“You’re not going to prison,” Jared says.

Jensen shrugs. “Depends who he’s got in his pocket.”

Jared’s face is dark with fury. “He’s a ruthless bastard. I’ll give him that. But you are _mine_ , Jensen. And you’re more important to me than the money. I will do whatever it takes to get you clear of this.”

He meets Jensen’s eyes, his expression intense. “You did the right thing, going after Kathy. There was no one else who could do it and family is more important than money, always will be,” he pauses. “If we can get our hands on that money, great. We should do what we can to get it, but that doesn’t include sacrificing family. If we don’t get it,” he shrugs. “It ain’t the end of the world.”

Jensen nods. “My old man’s never met a person who he couldn’t either threaten or bribe; and he’s met the President, Jay. Those are the circles he moves in. He sees himself as some kind of puppet master, playing with the lives of lesser mortals. This…gathering storm is something that he’s orchestrated.”

Jared raises an eyebrow.

“Well then. When we get you out of here—and we will get you out, I don’t care who he’s got in his pocket—maybe you and I should do some planning and orchestrating of our own; teach him the _real_ meaning of vengeance.”

Jensen rolls his eyes. “You going full super villain on me, Jay?”

Jared snorts. “It’ll be like that song you sang with Chris,” he licks his lips. _“On a gathering storm comes a tall handsome man in a dusty black coat with a red right hand.”_

Jensen laughs softly, his eyes crinkled. “I’ll give you _tall, handsome man_ , but you don’t own a dusty black coat, Jay. A black leather jacket, maybe.”

Jared grins back at him. “Tomayto, Tomahto.”

Jensen ponders the situation. His old man’s hands are just as red with murderous vengeance as his and Jared’s are. The only difference between them is that Warren Mason Ackles has _stacks of green paper in his red right hand_. And they don’t. Not as much as him. Not yet anyway.

Jensen decides right then and there, wearing an orange jumpsuit in the visitors room of the Hollywood Area City Jail, that his father’s obscene wealth isn’t going to make a difference; not this time.

This time, he’s going down. No matter how red Jensen's own hands have to get. 

_The End_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Bluefire986 for the fabulous art, to Endlessevalina for beta reading something way out of their comfort zone and to Wendy for once again running this iconic challenge. Thanks also to the keen readers who have kept me inspired to continue writing in this 'verse. I hope you enjoy my latest offering. <3


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